Quick Hands
by wroteastory
Summary: Back after a long hiatus! After losing a close friend in a previous Game, District 3's Tech Narrowshas been selected by his community (which has never won) to serve as a Tribute in the 25th Hunger Games. His role as an outcast has proven to be a benefit physically, but can he mentally endure his district partner, the tradition of the Games and the insanity-inducing arena?
1. Tech Finds His Center

**This is my first foray into writing something of substantial length and substance. I have most of it written, but I will upload it a few days at a time as I'm writing the rest. My first child is on the way, so this seems like an excellent way to pass the long nights that are sure to come.**

**All reviews are appreciated. Thanks.**

Tech Narrows was over District Three.

Tech hadn't been allowed to be himself for his entire 15 years and he was growing weary of the constant façade; but D3—as he preferred to call it as he felt it gave the sleepy district some edge—wasn't the kind of place that was open to embrace varied interests.

The Hunger Games were instituted over twenty years ago. In those twenty-some years, District Three was consistently the poorest showing district; their kids were eaten alive—often times, literally, as they were too focused on hiding from other Tributes or formulating overtly complex plans to notice the mutts hiding around them. Over forty kids lost their lives during the span of the Hunger Games in embarrassing, soul-crushing fashion.

The issue is, outside of the families of those Tributes and Tech himself, no one in D3 seemed to care much. It was a foregone conclusion that the Tributes of Three were goners and the citizens of Three were far too submissive to do much about it, and it was their passive nature that kept the slaughter going.

In District Three, it is intellect that is valued over brawn, the spirit of discovery held in higher esteem than the spirit of competition, which is how Tech found himself to be the outcast of his family, peers and community. Tech was as intelligent, if not moreso, than nearly all of his classmates. He excelled in the valued subjects such as math and science and consistently felt one step ahead of the others in nearly every assignment and project. This alone should have made Tech the model D3 student, but that was the only element of Tech—outside of his ridiculous name—that fit the mold.

Tech was handsome, square-jawed with an effortless charisma that he constantly kept reined in. Though it wasn't a significant achievement due to the timid, meek, unatheletic genetic code in Three, he was still taller than every other boy his age, as well as many of the 16s and 17s. Further, Tech had found himself cursed with a competitive nature, a desire for victory, which separated him so distinctly from his district counterparts that he made the conscious decision from early age to repress his desire to pursue greatness.

In D3, greatness was mediocrity.

For Tech, mediocrity was grating and difficult.

* * *

In secret, Tech was a law-breaker in such an unprecedented way that he wasn't even certain what the penalty would be if he were to be caught.

His father, Mica, was an engineer, diligently working on designs for household technology so luxurious that it would never been seen in the homes of the impoverished D3 residents. Slaving away for weeks straight, Mica created some of the most popular pieces of technology in the entire Capitol: automatic combs, customizable ice machines for refrigerators, coffee mugs with the ability to change colors as to match the garish outfits of the Capitol elite.

However, it was his discovery of wide area tattoo needles which had allowed him to make a real name for himself. Tech's father adapted a collection of smaller needles to form one large mechanism, which allowed to the "fashion-minded" citizens of the Capitol the ability to dye the entirety of their epidermis. Soon after, he created an add-on which could painlessly erase these large-scale tattoos. While the allure of the creation was beyond the grasp of Tech, these tattoo guns became an absolute Capitolian necessity and earned Mica far-reaching acclaim.

This success occurred near Tech's eighth birthday and was celebrated with a lavish-by-the-usually-low-standards-of-District-Three party in the industrial office where Mica worked. As Mica's only child, Tech was expected to be present and on his best behavior. Tech's parents had always been extremely distant from him.

The Narrows' didn't "do" affection.

But they were going to "do" this party, so a nearly 8-year-old Tech begrudgingly put on his very best clothes—the ones typically reserved for viewing the Reapings he wasn't yet a part of—and headed to the one of the dozen or so multi-storied buildings in D3's meager "downtown" area.

Tech was immediately introduced and ignored while Mica soaked up the semi-jealous praises of his coworkers.

"Cool", Tech thought as he discreetly moseyed out of the large cafeteria, "I can take off this stupid tie."

He wandered down the dreary stairwell, wondering what life had been like in this building during the Dark Days. As one of few remaining structures from that time period in Three, the building had a distinct aura about it, a unique mysterious quality Tech was always drawn to. His curiosity took him to the slim corridor in the basement behind the "EMPLOYEES ONLY" sign. Adorned with only a series of low wattage, sporadically flashing lights due to what Tech could only assume was poor wiring, the hallway appeared abandoned, forgotten and dangerous. It smelled of moisture from water leaks long ignored and he could hear the fevered scurrying of rodents somewhere deeper down the hallway.

Regardless, Tech never got to experience danger in his uneventful existence in Three so, at nearly eight-years-old, Tech went exploring. Breaking rules under the newer, more vicious Capitol regime was rare and a much younger Tech enjoyed his little private rebellion.

It was particularly lackluster excursion up until its conclusion.

However, near the end of the corridor, Tech found what must have been a break area for the janitor of this building during the Dark Days, as absolutely none of the equipment in this room was the least bit recognizable. Tech played with the large bag hanging from the chains, pushing it and then dodging it as it swayed on its axis. He tried to pick up the heaviest ball he'd ever seen, only to end up trying to balance on top when his attempts proved futile. He was exhausted, but Tech loved every second of it.

On the ground, Tech found what would become the center of his existence for the next eight years, a magazine simply titled "Boxing." Stuffing it in the back of his pants and then retucking in his shirt, Tech rushed back to the party unnoticed.

* * *

Tech snuck away every chance he could to study the monthly, cover to cover. He read about an activity so outside his realm of understanding that he nearly convinced himself that this magazine was documenting some sort of fictional sport.

These people fought, but not to kill. Tech could hardly wrap his mind around it.

Boxing took the brute combat he had been forced to watch in the Hunger Games and created something precise, structured and technical. There was strategy and technique which reminded him of chess, except the stakes were higher and poor defense meant "chin-checks" (which was Tech's favorite term from the magazine) instead of checkmates. Fascinated by the analysis and information within the pages of this magazine, Tech could not resist sneaking back into the lower corridor, floors below his father's workplace, to utilize all of the foreign objects he now had names for.

Over the next eight years, Tech trained.

Resistance bands.

Medicine balls.

Dumbbells.

The rickety speed bag he repaired and mastered.

The full-size punching bag.

Sprints up and down the corridor.

Pushing himself because there was no one to compete with using a sport and methods from a time that no longer existed and would never exist again.

He mimicked the pictures in "Boxing" and memorized the tips given on every page and, as he grew up and strengthened himself, he adapted the strategies and created his own workouts. His poorly wrapped hands developed blisters and eventually calloused, giving him a resistance he never thought possible. Using his standard issue school shirt, he kept his sleeves pulled onto his hands whenever he felt the need to be conspicuous during school or at home.

One hour, each weekday, before school or whenever he could sneak in, for eight years, he trained diligently. He felt free and he never felt too nervous; he wasn't even sure there was a rule that forbid boxing, there was just a general disinterest in all things athletic across D3. The office employees never noticed him sneaking in and out of the sidedoor of the building and his parents had a natural gift of treating him with indifference so, subsequently, they weren't much of an issue. His classmates, however, provided their own conflict.

The boys in class had developed and focused a rather severe jealousy on Tech. He was smarter than them, which he tried to hide by purposely answering the teachers' questions incorrectly to take away the focus. However, when the teacher sang his praises for his flawless test scores or compelling projects, he was on the radar for all of the boys in his class. Had he known it would be mentioned aloud, he never would have done well in the first place. Tech wanted to box, he didn't want focus because it may cut into or, even worse, expose his boxing.

It was inescapable.

He was also the subject of adoration for nearly every girl in his class. Again, the competition wasn't to fierce, but Tech found himself cornered, talking to girls he had minimal interest in, while his small, freckled classmates burned with envy.

He didn't want to be selected to represent his school in the District-wide science fair.

He didn't want to win and now be the focus of intellectual hatred among the brightest students in all of D3.

All he wanted to do was box in his maintenance closet and pretend he was from a time where his hobby was celebrated, not contorted into a disgusting, barbaric mockery with weapons and marketed to the masses as the Hunger Games.

Tech was, simply, naturally disliked.

* * *

A Quarter Quell, Tech found as he was watching the mandatory presidential telecast on his government issued television over dinner, was to occur every 25 years. The Quells were to remind the citizens of Panem how entirely defenseless they were against the tyranny of the Capitol by making the Hunger Games somehow worse than they already were.

Tech had always hated the Games despite his intensely competitive nature. He wanted his physical victories and losses to become part of his own record, not as the end of someone else's life or his own.

This thought lingered in Tech's head as he half watched the president, an imposing mountain of a man named President Clemens, announce that districts would have the honor (it was later revealed that this "honor" was mandatory) of voting in the male and female tributes from their district.

The president gave a remorseless grin, the television feed cut out, and the whirlwind began.

All voting occurred the following day, a Tuesday, and everyone over the age of 12 was required to cast a ballot, which conveniently listed the names of every eligible candidates in the district.

Check a box, send a couple of kids to their deaths, then get back to work. _Painless_.

The votes were tallied nationwide in a machine designed by Mica, which was ultra efficient and would have the final count verified by the Reaping on Wednesday.

The pageantry of the Reaping was toned down quite a bit, Tech noticed as he stood with his fellow 15s. There were no random names selected, just the escort, Revere, standing essentially alone on the stainless steel stage under the perpetually cloudy afternoon sky, flanked by a few Peacekeepers in case the elected Tribute decided to make a run for it.

District Three had no mentors because it had no winners. However, in the eyes of their home nation, Panem, D3 had the smartest population; they could figure it out.

Tech snapped out his private, cynical world as the escort, a noticeably understated-looking middle-aged Capitol man named Revere, was finishing up his scripted telling of the Hunger Games' origin.

There was no boy within five feet of him. In fact, all of the boys his group were comically crammed on their edge of their small patch of asphalt. He caught a couple of them giving his a sideways glance, but not the resentful sort he was accustomed to when the intelligence he consistently tried to hide presented itself.

These looks were remorseful.

These kids looked guilty.

As he looked in front of him at the two older sets of males, he saw a few kids quickly turn their heads back to the stage.

"No," Tech whispered in a moment of enlightenment, before turning his focus back to Revere.

"…as selected by the largest percentage of District Three citizens, your 25th male Tribute, Tech Narrows."


	2. A Known Stranger

**I appreciate the one review so far. I know it's hard to commit to a story when so many here seem to go unfinished, but I have this one written nearly to the end of the Games already. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks.**

Tech chuckled.

"Huh," he said with slightly dumbfounded understanding, as he took strong steps towards toward the stage.

"Cowards," he muttered a bit more audibly, making sure his peers heard his growing anger. No use hiding his feeling now.

There was an aisle way which separated the boys from the girls in the center of the Reaping herd. It was customary for the Tributes, once selected, to walk—or, more often, be dragged by Peacekeepers—up this path.

Tech, however, cut straight through the middle of 15s, 16s, 17s and finally the 18s. They were stunned at first, but the kids created a seam for Tech as he traipsed between them all, making eye contact with none of them.

He bounded up the stage and stood next to Revere, who was understandably stunned. Revere had rarely seen a Tribute in this otherwise disappointing District show even a fraction of the confidence, nor the vigor, that Tech showed in the last 30 seconds.

The crowd, for the most part, did not seem stunned. It was silent, because this time, this one time, they were truly responsible. He'd be willing to bet that his selection came as no shock to anyone but himself.

Tech's chin was up, his strong arms crossed.

He did not appear afraid because he hadn't had time to consider what he was just selected to participate in. A rage burned inside of Tech that he had never felt in his life. He tried to stay out of their way, tried to do his own thing. He hid his natural academic gifts as best he could, he avoided confrontation despite his obvious physical advantages.

He just wanted to be left alone.

Almost immediately, the patience and levelheadedness he'd been practicing since entering school took over.

It made a lot of sense.

His name was known throughout the district as a young intellect, which surely incited a slew of votes not just from jealous students, but from name recognition alone. The adults likely picked him because of his build, separating emotion from empathy and deciding that Tech, despite his somewhat young age, was Three's best shot at getting someone home.

His anger, he realized, stemmed from the fact that his fellow residents thought it out so much. They played the Capitol's game and turned against one another as a district, only to have their selections turn against one another in the Games. Tech found it sickening.

During Tech's vote, he had simply closed his eyes and checked the boxes belonging two names his pencil landed on.

* * *

The ceremony concluded and Tech, mind still working through the semantics of the situation, was ushered by a Peacekeeper, with unnecessary force, to a waiting room where he would receive visitors. The arrival of his parents was a welcome surprise; he figured they would avoid facing their son, knowing it was the last time they would see him alive in person.

Tech's mother essentially met his expectation, crying hysterically as she hugged him with her face buried in his chest. Her words were incomprehensible and Tech, numb from the gravity of the situation that he was trying not to allow to sink in, didn't ask her to repeat them. He held her and stroked the dark brown hair, the hair that she and her son had in common.

Tech acknowledged that he hadn't really noticed that before.

Her emotions were too unbearable and Tech didn't try to stop her as she ran out of the waiting area. He understood; Tech would have felt the same way if he had been capable, at that point, of feeling any emotion at all.

Tech's father, who had stood quietly through the entire exchange, stood face to face with his son, the Tribute. Tech truly noticed his father for the first time. At 15, Tech was standing at level with his father. His father had green eyes like himself, but Mica's seemed piercing and calm. Experienced.

Tech had never noticed that, either.

"I never told you about the rebellion," Mica said suddenly in a voice so level and precise that it startled Tech.

"We don't have much time," Mica said, "but this is important. During the rebellion, I was 10-years-old. I acted as a sniper for the rebel forces in District Four. I was young, but I'd been shooting harpoons for half of my life and it turns out the skill translated with a little effort and, as child, I was easy to conceal. As the rebellion was falling apart, there was a temporary break in border protection. My sergeant, Sgt. Narrows, instructed us to take a midnight convoy to District Seven and then, through a series of caravans across the nation, to District Three, where the other child soldiers and I would be given new identities under the guise of orphans which lost their parents during the rebellion. We would be safe and our affiliation with rebel forces would be eradicated… buried."

Tech listened in an astounded, glorious silence.

Mica ran his hand through his dirty blonde hair, which allowed his nervousness to break through briefly, but continued, "Tech, I've killed before. Adults and children, soldiers and civilians. I… I've killed before, and now you will, too. You need to put down the ridiculous layers of camouflage you've been hiding behind your whole life. Use your cunning to outwit and your strength to outfight. You WILL make it back."

Mica, with the emphasized "WILL," pushed his strong hand into Tech's chest with such force it nearly knocked him over, but he didn't let go.

Before Tech even had a chance to respond, the Peacekeeper turned the knob to the waiting area.

Hearing him enter the lobby, Mica leaned into Tech and quickly whispered:

"These kids have definitely never seen a trained boxer, let alone from District Three. They'll never see you coming. Give them hell.

I love you."

And with that, Mica, the father Tech realized was actually a complete stranger, walked out as the Peacekeeper walked in, forcing the Peacekeeper to hold the door for him.


	3. An Inspirtation Lit

**This story isn't getting much attention, which is understandable considering I'm only a few chapters in. If you're reading, let me know. I'm an English teacher so I'm open to all criticism. Hope you're enjoying. **

Tech was still astonished as he boarded the train to the Capitol. His father, the paper pushing, unassuming engineer nerd is actually a rebel assassin? A refugee from District Four with fake identity and name adopted from a sergeant?

"He knew about the boxing?"

"He knows how much of an imposter I am?"

Tech was shaken from his shock by the girl starring at him from the other side of his prolific train car that was beginning to depart. In his daze, he had completely ignored the Reaping—or should he say, "voting in"—of the female Tribute from his own district.

He couldn't help but notice she was attractive, but she certainly didn't look strong. Tough to tell sitting down, but she was probably a few inches shorter than himself, roughly his own age of 15, and had dark, straight hair similar to his, but hers was short and spiked up in every direction. Her eyes were suspiciously empty, like caverns (or at least what he knew caverns to look like based on a previous Hunger Games—an image that pained him), like they had seen pain or, at minimum, felt it severely.

This girl was burning a hole in him with her glare. Tech wasn't sure if it was hatred or if she was the most socially awkward person he had ever been trapped in a room with, but she was nearly inhuman.

As he gave her a once-over, he took note of a few things. First, he had never seen this girl before in his life, so she certainly didn't go to his small school. Second, she looked nothing like the D3 prototype. No glasses, no freckles, no signs of obvious, boring, useless-for-the-Hunger-Games intellect.

Tech, being overtly judgy decides she may be savvy, but she wasn't a bookworm.

And third, and most worrisome for Tech, is that she didn't appear concerned at all. She was stone-faced and stoic and Tech was, frankly, afraid she was going to leap from her chair and stab him with some sort of hidden weapon before the train even made its way out of the district.

The silent eye homicide continued for a solid five minutes. Tech had sworn to himself he was going to keep composed for the duration of the Games, however long that may be, but this girl was brutal. So he looked around, to try and lighten his own mood and maybe her get her to break her eye contact. He fiddled with the gold and silver chess pieces on the table, nearly knocked over a lamp when the train jumped and, seeing her still eyeing him, considered pouring himself a drink from the diamond decanters, all while being visually trailed around the room by…

…he had to get her name, but he definitely wasn't going to be the one that broke that silence. He could at least hold power in that regard.

Finally, Revere walked in, tie loosened, and poured himself a bourbon from the same decanter Tech had been semi-jokingly eyeing a few minutes earlier. He was humming to himself something mildly cheerful that served as a ridiculous juxtaposition to the tension that permeated the rest of the room. He matched his song to the clinking of the ice and gave his hips a couple of shimmies and he poured the drink and took his initial sip.

Revere had his back to his Tributes the entire time and still hadn't made any sort of interaction with them since entering the car. He made his way to the third, and only unoccupied, leather chair in the lounging area of traveling car and took a seat, overemphasizing his yawn as he stretched out his back and set his now half full drink down, which sounded deafening in the soundproof, noiseless compartment.

"So…" Revere finally spoke up. "You two know each other?"

Neither Tribute responded. This was going to be a battle of wills, but the next question visibly rattled them both.

"Did you two campaign to be the selected tributes?"

With that, the renewed starring competition between Tech and the girl he was starting to believe was a sorceress was over.

Tech's "Are you kidding?" was nearly drowned out by the girl's "You're a moron."

Tech felt her voice down his spine—it had a quality of fury.

Revere looked pleased, presumably because his goading had finally cracked the hush in the room. He took another drawn out drink and continued, "Just curious, because you two are the only tributes I've had in my time as escorts that don't look like they just crawled out from under a stack of encyclopedias. Tech, you were the tallest kid in the entire crowd and your little stunt when you walked through all the geniuses that voted you in looked… it made a statement."

Tech hadn't been trying to make a statement to anyone but the "geniuses," but he quickly realized that something which is perceived as a show of force may not be altogether bad. In fact, coming from Three, it would be downright unexpected. He would likely downgrade himself in training, but this forced the other Tributes to at least recognize that he had some gusto.

"And you," Revere went on, focusing his direction to the nameless girl, "that was quite the turn around. I saw the knee you planted on that Peacekeeper's…err, well, we both know where you connected. He was just taking you to the visiting room. You're lucky he didn't shoot you."

"He's lucky I didn't shoot him," she snarled back. She had a fire inside. "He didn't have control of his weapon as he was writhing on the floor. He had no reason to put his hands on me."

"He was helping you down the stairs."

"And I helped him down to the ground."

Was this girl real? She took down a Peacekeeper and had no physical damage done to her in return? Her lack of remorse was impressive, Tech considered, as he'd seen the atrocities done to innocent citizens by some of the more arrogant Peacekeepers. It was too bad he hadn't been in the frame of mind to pay attention to anything going on around him. But still, how did he miss that?

"You have to stay focused," Tech whispered to himself, quickly realizing it was far, far too loud.

She jumped out of her seat and promptly kicked the large chair over with a force Tech and Revere couldn't have expected. "Outstanding, and this idiot talks to himself. Another bang up squad this year, Three! I smell food, so I'm going to eat before you try to sit down and try to keep me company."

With that, she dismissed Tech and Revere with a flip of her hand and stormed out.

Revere laughed to himself, "She's a treat, can't imagine why _anyone_ would have marked _her name_ on the ballot."

Revere had a very disarming sarcasm to him and a likeability that allowed Tech to let his guard down a bit. Sure, Revere wasn't a victor, but he had been the liaison long before Tech had begun going to Reapings so he at least had experience, all of which was negative and resulted in death, but it was experience nonetheless.

Had Tech always been this morose? It didn't matter; this wasn't a particularly chipper scenario.

"What is that monster's name?" Tech finally asked.

Revere looked a bit bewildered, "You were _literally_ four feet from me when I announced her name, over a microphone, to the entire district. You didn't catch it then?"

"I wasn't all that concerned," Tech said with a forced flippancy he didn't really possess.

"Right, I got it. You're a nice kid, but the second you talk, I can tell you aren't nearly as battle-tested as you're trying to come of." Revere stood to pour another drink.

"Yep, lots of battles going on in Three to build my chops," Tech quipped to Revere's back. "But I'm in good hands here with you. You've only sent 48 Tributes straight to their deaths. I'm sure you're as good of a mentor as you are as a judge of character."

Tech wasn't completely sure where that sentiment came from. He wasn't rude by nature, nor was he all that angry with Revere, especially considering Revere was essentially correct. Tech's "battle training," he could say confidently, was more than 99% of those in his district. He'd at least thrown a punch, thousands of punches, but it was just at his various punching bags. He'd never used a weapon or fought a person, physically or verbally, in his entire life.

Revere, with his hands on the bar, back still to Tech, spoke clearly and slowly, restraining his ferocity, "You're secretly smart, I can tell by your demeanor and your quickness to rebut. I can tell you're terrified because you keep tapping your foot, but I can tell you're self aware because you stop yourself and, most importantly and suspiciously, I can tell you've been hitting the hell out of something because your knuckles tell a story you can't hide. So what is it, Tech? You want to win the Hunger Games or not?"

Alright, so Revere may be a _bit _more observant than Tech had given him credit for.

"I can tell you have the 'chops,' as you call them, to make a run at being a Victor," Revere said as he turned around, finding his composure, "and you know as well as I do that in the last 25 years, District Three hasn't exactly given me a lot to work with. The kids don't train here, they don't volunteer like they have started doing in some of the other districts. I've had two Tributes I've felt had a real fighting chance. One was before you were born, and he was eaten by some kind of damn snake with wings he had no reason to expect before he could crack the top ten. The other was Lit, who I'm sure you remember."

Revere had no idea how correct he was.

At 13, Lit, the D3 female Tribute, was completely overlooked throughout the training and pre-Games festivities two years prior. Her arena was series of caves and tunnels with very little open space outside of the area directly surrounding the cornucopia. Lit, it became apparent, had a spatial intelligence that she had never revealed in training, even though Tech couldn't imagine something that ever came up during her practice sessions. While kids were starving, getting lost and severely injuring themselves in the dark, winding tunnels, Lit was slowly navigating and making map in her mind of escape routes and pitfalls.

Lit's technique was ruthless and insanely efficient. Because she was so small, and so underestimated, she earned the highest kill count without ever actually touching another Tribute or drawing any attention to herself. Lit would sneak up on a group of Tributes as they slept and steal everything worthwhile from their packs. Once she had what she wanted, she would pretend to trip or make some obscenely loud noise—once she even faked a sneeze—then allowed the Tributes she had just robbed blind to chase her. She would lead them into traps, misdirect them into mutts or off of cliffs within the caverns, or even into other Tributes. The results were gruesome. Lit made it to the top six and had looked like she had even gained some weight in the process.

She was coasting to victory.

And then the Gamemakers turned on the lights in the passageways to amp up the excitement for the ever-important viewing public. Her entire advantage, her intelligence and cunning, became useless and she was quickly found and slaughtered.

Tech winced at the memory.

Lit was the pride of Three and she happened to be the only Tribute ever sent to the Hunger Games that Tech had ever actually met in person, because Lit had been Tech's only friend.


	4. Meet The Tributes, Meet Tech's Ambush

**My wife and I had our first child yesterday, a healthy baby girl named Penelope. That has nothing to do with this story, but I'm happy about it and figured I'd brag anonymously on FanFic. Thanks for reading. **

**Note: the perspective switches once the Games begin to first person and the viewpoint will shift occasionally. **

Tech ended his conversation with Revere abruptly, the thought of Lit now taking over his thoughts. He considered grabbing some food, he was starving now that the adrenaline had subsided, but he didn't want to be any closer to _Porcelain_ than he had to.

He still couldn't believe that was her name. Revere had finally answered Tech's question as Tech had turned to leave. He was so amused by it that he actually laughed.

"Laugh while you can," Tech considered to himself, "there isn't much time left for entertainment."

So, the strongest, craziest, most explosive girl he'd ever come in contact with had the most fragile, delicate name imaginable? The insults would write themselves and he needed to have his fun, even if it was at the expense of others, before he was more than likely killed. It seemed like one of those District One or Capitol names; how did this demon from D3 end up with it?

Three was all of the way across Panem from the Capitol, so he had plenty of time to avoid Porcelain and get his share of the food. Tech ignored his rumbling stomach and headed to his room, or at least the one he was claiming as his room, and threw himself onto his bed to take it all in. The fixtures on the appliances, the upholstery on the chairs, the quality of the sheets… The cost of this _stuff_ in this one room could feed some of the poorer families in Three for years. Tech hated frivolity, but he wasn't going to turn it away if it was forced upon him.

"Might as well spend my last days in comfort."

To get his mind of his old friend, he turned on the TV to catch the Reapings nationwide. He had missed District One already, but he could imagine them in his head. Beautiful, stupid names, physically superior, arrogant but elegant. Whatever, Tech thought, he'd see them plenty during training.

The scene in District Two was so preposterous Tech nearly shut the TV off right then. The boy and girl elected were celebrating being chosen for the Hunger Games.

_Celebrating_.

"Congratulations, morons, your district probably hates you as much as my district hates me. See you soon."

However, once Tech was given a chance to study them on replay, he realized to his chagrin that these two kids were animals. They clearly were a team, or at least knew each other, because they shook hangs and walked off the stage together in a manner that didn't appear all that foreign to them. Further, what the boy lacked in height—Tech assumed the boy was shorter that himself—he made up for in what looked like brute strength. His arms were monstrous, and the girl looked like one of the female boxers Tech had found so beautiful and dangerous-looking in his magazine.

Tech noted that D2 was an issue.

There was commentary for the Reapings and, as the focus of the broadcast turned to District Three, the broadcaster announced excitedly, "and here are this year's dark horses."

"Dark horses?" The equally smarmy Capitolian cohost spoke with feigned shock, "Early wagers have these two nearly as favorites!"

Tech watched his name be called, watched him part the crowd like he had mastered telepathy and take the stage like he had known exactly what was coming. Tech thought he looked like a lunatic, like an idiot, but the commentators described him as having "an aura of silent confidence." Tech walking through his peers was being nationally viewed as him giving a warning to his competitors.

Now Tech felt he had a target on his back.

The on-air personalities even went so far as to criticize the mini-party the Tributes from Two threw on stage, saying that Tech showed dominance while the kids from Two showed immaturity. They commented that Tech looked like a contender and was the one to watch in these 25th Games.

"This isn't good at all."

It was happening again. So much unwarranted, undesired attention. It had been what put him in the Games, and now it was shaping up to take him out of the Games in a hurry.

If Tech had been surprised by the reaction he had garnered, then Porcelain nearly gave him a coronary. As her name was called, Porcelain Amundson smiled the brightest, most splendid smile Tech may have ever seen. She walked, without looking at a single other kid, directly to the aisle and then began waving to the crowd, the people who had, as a majority, checked her name on the ballot. The look of horror on the faces of the D3 residents was so visible that the commentators had to spin it as to make the crowd seem "overwhelmed with pride" rather than "looking like they got slapped in the face."

These commentators were definitely wordsmiths, but they weren't too perceptive. They either didn't notice or, more likely, were forced to edit out Porcelain's assault of the Peacekeeper, so the image that she was holding onto was the "delighted, enthused Tribute."

"If only they knew _how _enthused."

After that, it became clear what a splash Three had made, because they briefly breezed through all of the remaining Districts. The highlights seemed fairly minimal, as the voting process seemed to have backfired on the Capitol in many of the districts, which made for a wildly uninspiring Reaping broadcast.

Four looked weaker than usual, even though they had recently began volunteering and training in the same fashion as One and Two and produced serious competitors and even a few victors. Training wasn't allowed legally, but it made for exciting Games so it was generally overlooked.

Six had voted in the two kids who came alphabetically first on the ballot. Tech couldn't decide if this was a sign of rebellion or of general coldhearted apathy, because the Abengoas were brother and sister. Nothing even remotely similar to this had ever occurred in a Hunger Games, as the odds of getting selected were so thin to begin with.

The broadcasters both agreed that this was the most interesting, exciting development in years and praised the Quell and the Capitol for this rejuvenating twist.

"Siblings forced to potentially kill each other for your enjoyment, " Tech thought, "welcome to Panem."

The boy from Seven was an ox; a giant of a boy—man would be more accurate—who actually had an ax on him when selected. He carried it on the stage and then looked stunned when the Peacekeeper slowly took it out of his hands. He was still in work clothes—almost certainly a clear-cutter for the lumber district—and didn't even seem to realize he still had his tool on him. Tech instinctively doubted that Ox, as Tech dubbed him, had comprehended that he just made sure everyone went for the axes first in the mad dash towards the Cornucopia

The rest were quiet, mostly young and, unless they were hiding something, dead in the first two days, until Eleven, where the female Tribute was selected and immediately punched the girl next to her in the face with such force that the viewing public could see the consciousness leave her body. She screamed like a lunatic, not out of fear, but out of what appeared to be anger, and stomped up on stage. She didn't look all that big, but she was clearly from the Porcelain school of combat. The analysts on the TV said she was an early frontrunner as well.

As Twelve wrapped up in its typically forgettable fashion, Tech glanced out the window deep in thought. He was an in area he presumed was between districts. The depressing District Three skyline, if you could even call it a skyline, was well out of sight. Based on the sunset, they appeared to be traveling southwest through a prairie that stretched all the way to the horizon. Tech had never witnessed a scene so subtly beautiful and he embraced it, wishing he could jump from the train and live in the wide open space.

Tech would have rather starved to death there, alone in the pasture, than in the arena. But that was just a dream, as he would instantly be caught and either replaced or subjected to horrible muttation torture early in the Games. The mutts were the genetically dominant terrors unleashed during the Games specifically for the purpose of creating unexpected excitement, but the widely believed conspiracy theory was that these mutts served the dual function of wiping out Tributes that Capitol didn't deem fit to be a Victor. Tech was a firm believer in this principal. Lit wasn't suitable, but instead of mutts, the utilized illumination.

And then, with the thought of his own demise freshly on his mine, Porcelain abruptly entered his room.

With a knife in each hand.


	5. Surprise Encounter

So, this was how Tech Narrows was going to die.

Not of starvation in District Three if his father lost his job.

Not in a prison cell for boxing without consent.

Not in the jaws of a mutt during the Quell.

Right here, in his dazzling room on a speeding train at the hands of psychopath.

She looked around hastily, saw that he was alone, and whispered, "Take this, stupid, we're getting out of here."

She threw the knife towards him, handle first.. Tech didn't even try to catch it; he wasn't about to imply that he wanted any part of this. Tech just stared at her, trying to comprehend her lunacy. It had to be a trick. This girl was trying to get him killed by the guards, thinking he would foolishly agree to lead the charge. If Tech was killed on the train, and it wasn't by Porcelain, she could play the role of distraught Tribute and earn more sympathy than any Hunger Games participant in history. If this was the case, it was brilliant, but Tech wasn't going to be the one to go down. Tech, for the first time in his short life, allowed his anger

"We're _what? _We're just going to fight our way off of this heavily patrolled train and then jump into a field at well over 100 miles per hour? Is this a joke?"

Porcelain was maniacal. "All we have to do is get to the conductor. We fight our way to him, stop the train and get the hell out of here. I'm not going into those Games, I'm absolutely not doing it even I was given the 'honor' of representing our most prideful home."

The distaste in her voice was venomous, but her sincerity towards this get away was undeniable. Tech found himself respecting her heart and believing that she had no malicious intention towards him, despite how it had manifested itself in this severely misguided attempt. Now Tech wanted to make sure she didn't get herself killed, no matter how much it might benefit him.

"So we're clear, _Porcelain_, you're willing to kill guards whose job is to make sure we don't escape and then HIJACK A TRAIN? You're insane and you're on a suicide mission. Just go into the Games and see how many laps you can run around the Cornucopia before you catch a sword to the throat or something; at least then the citizens of Panem will remember you for a couple of minutes. Terrible plan…

…and never call me stupid again, Jailbreak."

She was indignant and her eyes were beginning to water from what Tech assumed from frustration. "Oh, cute, Tech has a knack for nicknames."

"Too bad your parents didn't have a knack for actual names, _Porcelain_."

The rage turned immediately to aggressive misery at the mention of her parents, and Porcelain began to cry. Tech had never seen a breakdown to this degree in his life. His mother in the waiting room was absolutely inconsolable, but Porcelain was in shambles. Tech, hesitant to let down his guard, kept his distance with the massive knife she had provided and clutched it, white-knuckled. She looked up and saw him still in a defensive stance, shook her head in disappointment and threw her knife with appalling accuracy through the center of the television on the opposite wall. It cracked and sizzled as Tech rushed to remove the power cord from the wall.

Tech was furious. He shouldn't have to deal with this, he thought. He's going into the same Games she is, so why does Porcelain get a nervous breakdown only a few hours into the trek to the Capitol?

His shouting was cataclysmic.

"WHY IS THIS MY PROBLEM? What is your malfunction, Jailbreak? You shoot daggers at me as soon as we meet, but only after acting like the happiest Hunger Games Tribute in 25 years at the Reaping. You come in here expecting to go on a murder spree on this train to avoid a murder spree in the arena, and then you start crying on the floor—MY floor. Have you come unhinged?"

The panic slowly, but visibly, started to leave Porcelain. As she regained her composure disturbingly fast, she sat on his bed and finally spoke in tone from world entirely separate to her previous passion, "We need to set some ground rules," she stated without emotion. "Foremost, no family talk under any circumstances. I'm not going there and I doubt you want to either."

Who was she to be the one in control? However, Tech has spent years acting in ways completely opposite from how he felt, so he played along. Tech nodded his head in agreement, still trying to take in the newest shift in emotion. He had no reason to discuss anything too personal with this lunatic, so why not agree? Every piece of this conversation would give him insight into her psyche. Her weapon was lodged in a television 20 feet away, she was no longer a physical threat.

"Secondly, we don't kill each other unless we ask."

It was at that moment that the gravity of the situation hit Tech square in the jaw. He was going into the Hunger Games and, in a few short days, he may be _begging _for death. He may be insisting that someone relieve him from his life, and that someone may be the short-haired mental patient that just destroyed his television. He didn't see him and Porcelain being allies, but a vow of respect felt reasonable and, in that capacity, Tech felt he could trust his district partner for a mercy killing.

However, he didn't feel that he'd be able to turn his back to her, trustingly, in the arena. Not yet, anyway.

"Maybe."

Tech couldn't believe what he was saying. Tech was reserved, a people-pleaser even. He'd never purposely caused a rift between himself and somebody else simply because he had never felt that strongly about anything outside of boxing and his old friend Lit, in his entire life. But here he was, turning down the potential of a free pass against one of his most feared competitors?

Porcelain's flashed a smile so similar to the one she displayed at the Reaping, it caught Tech off guard.

"Right answer. If you trusted me after that stunt I just tried with the hostile takeover, you'd be useless in the arena anyway. Maybe you aren't as dumb as you look. Go hammer some of the food in the dining car. I promise you've never had anything like it. See you on the chariot."

Tech told himself that there was no way that was an act. Her emotion was real, but she was a survivor and had changed her story as soon as she saw Tech's distinterest. Who knew what her motivations were-Tech certainly didn't-but he knew she was trying to spearhead a charge off of this train, away from the Games.

But she turned so quickly, Tech considered. And she had given him a weapon and gotten rid of her own. It didn't make any sense.

_Does she not feel emotion?_

As Tech analyzed the variables within his own head, Porcelain wiped the last of her tears and, smiling, left Tech with a blade in his hand and a thousand questions.


	6. Light Poles

_**I will post a chapter a day for the next four days, today included, in order to keep the story moving. Again, the story is complete, but I'm still editing and adding as I post to make sure I keep it linear and don't make any major plot mistakes. **_

_**The Games start soon, but not before you get an insight into many of the Games preceding this Quell. Let me know what you think!**_

Two days later, Tech made a few observations as he stepped into his room in the Training Facility following the absurd chariot ride, which would serve as his formal introduction to the eagerly waiting Capitol population.

**I. Revere was a good guy, but his knowledge of the Games wasn't entirely reliable.**

After Porcelain's meltdown, Revere was in the dining car where they had a frank exchange of ideas. Revere was not pretending to get to know Tech; he was offering him a selection of the various ways to approach the Games and how to potentially present himself during the events of the next week. Tech did not mention Porcelain's behavior or his extensive self-training in boxing, but he listened attentively and left the dining car with the understanding that he needed to decide who he was. Revere, the slightly overweight man with the well-groomed beard was on Tech's side—Tech just needed to figure out what his own side was.

**II. Porcelain was a sociopath.**

At least, if she felt emotions, she never showed them or followed them in any logical sense. After showing brief approval the night before last, she completely ignored him. Tech wasn't actively seeking conversation or companionship, but her green eyes would constantly pierce him whenever they were in the same room. When Revere asked the night prior while they were still on the train if they wanted to be trained as a duo, Porcelain quickly responded,

"No, I plan on living."

Tech was already strategizing, as well. If they were going to survive, they at least needed to appear as a united front in order to make out of the initial massacre when Games began. Porcelain, he thought, was not going to be the final say in his life.

Tech's retort was instant, and directly solely to Revere. "I have no interest in her life, but we are from Three. We are perceived as weak because our history has shown us to be. In the chariot ride and interviews, which bookend this stupid spectacle, we need to look inseparable. In the arena, we fend for ourselves."

"There is quite a gap in your plan," Revere began, attempting to show the flaw in Tech's seemingly overconfident arrangement. Tech could see the smile of someone who thought they were "in the know" beging to show across Revere's face. Tech wasn't impressed.

"Clearly," Tech said, trying to appear insulted, "we have training for five days in between those acts. I want nothing to do with this headcase. I need consistency in my corner."

"In my corner" was something he had learned from his boxing magazine. You keep your most trusted with you during your bout, "ringside." Anyone else is not only a distraction, but an instrument for loss.

But Tech continued, making sure he stressed the importance, "once the Games start, I just need the other Tributes to be looking in more directions than just mine and I'm sure _Jailbreak _over there also wants to make it out of the slaughter alive. Our alliance ends the second we enter that arena, but the other opponents have no need to know that. If they are looking for a second enemy, we have a much better shot at surviving this."

The dining room was essentially silent with contemplation. Revere looked proud and Porcelain, Tech knew, had no choice but to agree. The other Tributes would be thrown for a loop if the Tributes from Three showed allegiance during the opening ceremonies, abandoned it during their preparatory sessions and then pretended to have maintained it the entire time during their interviews.

"Perfect plan," Porcelain said as she calmly stood up and left the car for her own compartment.

Tech left moments after, only saying to a complacent Revere, "I knew it was."

**III. The chariot rides are soul-sucking.**

Tech couldn't get the sarcastic, disgusted inner-monologue from stopping in his head.

_Hey, Capitol, it's me, Tech. Sure, my district partner and I are dressed as the giant towers that string power lines together, but I absolutely love being in black spandex with an iron, essentially immoveable exoskeleton that is hooked to our lighted chariot so we look like conduits. After all, aren't we conduits for your entertainment?_

Tech and Porcelain were nearly immobile during the chariot ride due to the restrictions of their costumes. Their stylists were a pair of rookies to the Games. Tech didn't bother to catch Porcelain's head stylist's name, but she seemed so excited about the Games and the attention it would garner her that she seemed to essentially ignore Porcelain, seeing her only as a doll on a larger scale. She had ridiculously pastel hair to match her massively rainbowed skin. Tech loved the idea of Porcelain having to deal with her.

Tech's stylist, Priscilla, was much more of a blessing. Priscilla had absolutely none of the Capitol demeanor. Her skin was not dyed using Mica's revolutionary technology, her hair was natural outside of what Tech assumed to be lengthening hair extensions, and she hardly even wore make up.

Her innate beauty completely overwhelmed Tech, and her attitude matched the personality. He could not understand how, in a society which valued falseness so openly, that an organic exquiteness managed to exist, let alone be in a position as coveted as a Hunger Games stylist.

His initial meeting with her had been brief once he has exited the train.

"I'm Priscilla."

"I'm Tech."

"Tech? From the district responsible for Technology? Did your parents hate you?"

Her tone was light-hearted mocking, nothing superior, so Tech resisted his initial urge to tell her what a hero his father, the one who had given him his name, was. Now that Tech considered it, Mica easily could have given him the name "Tech" because it was so stereotypically Three and he wanted to stay under the radar.

"Fine, _Technology_, I'll do the talking. I was given this job knowing I was likely dressing up a still living corpse, but you're not what anyone expected from Three. Word around the Capitol is that you are the heart throb, the bad boy, the disinterested one. I think it's in your best interest that we exploit that perception. I'm sure you're not that kind of man in any way at all, but if catering to that helps you rack up sponsors, which it will, that is exactly what I'm doing."

Tech felt understood. Someone was seeing him as something more than a picture on a television screen. Priscilla, in her reasonable judgment, was able to see Tech as a human being and not as a set of odds in a betting booth or someone that could be judged from 45 seconds of publicly broadcasted air time. She accepted the superficial nature of her job, and he accepted that how he was perceived could be the difference between having a sponsored meal or not in the Hunger Games.

"I trust you, Priscilla. Please help me."

Tech was vulnerable, but showing that to her was beneficial, he felt, not a hindrance.

"Thank you," Priscilla had said as she lightly touched his hand and forced his eye contact, "but I'm forced to work under a few restrictions."

One of the restrictions was that Porcelain's stylist was the daughter of a much beloved stylist from the first twenty Hunger Games. Resultantly, Priscilla has to follow her orders or she would lose her position before she ever really had a chance to show her talents.

"Dress like an idiot light pole," Priscilla had said without apology, "because it will let me present you how you deserve during the interviews. Can you handle that, 'Technology?'"

"Technology" was not his real name and he typically shuddered at the insult. For her, her brashness was a signal of compassion and an olive branch of friendship.

"I can handle that, but under one stipulation."

Priscilla smiled. "Let's hear it."

* * *

Tech and Porcelain stood on their chariots, not side to side, but Porcelain in front of Tech. The wires, actual electrical wires, connected them to together in their wildly embarrassing costumes.

And, though it took some convincing, Porcelain, standing a few feet in front of Tech, pushed both of her hands back as far as the iron clad suits would allow as they rode down the center of the crowd. Priscilla quickly strung a few extra wires in between them. Porcelain began to turn to curse, but Tech abruptly stopped her.

"Jailbreak, I need you to trust me. She is doing this as a favor to me. If this doesn't get a reaction, we can get back on the train and try to mutiny."

Tech said it with a smile, knowing Porcelain would deal with it. Tech knew she hated him, but she wanted to live and obviously didn't doubt that Tech shared the desire.

Porcelain had agreed to his terms previously in the train car and submitted to "going along with the plan," as Tech had sold it. She may be brutal, but she wasn't stupid and Porcelain had come to realize that Tech had a strong survival instinct, so she hadn't objected… much.

Tech assumed their lack of range of motion was Capitol issued, as Tech's stride through the Reaping crowd and Porcelain's waving act couldn't have been met with a sense of humor from the Capitolian higher-ups. The crowd was going absolutely insane, screaming their names and mimicking their now signature moves. Some kids, trying to be hilarious, starting splitting their way through the crowd. Young girls walked down the aisles waving and a massive group of screaming spectators that was completely ignoring them. Tech felt like the whole experience was surreal. He didn't even need to create more of a spectacle, but he had come this far, so why not go for it?

Tech then bent his gloved hands to meet Porcelain's and, upon connection, a stunning array of glowing lights and electricity traveled between. Tech didn't pretend to understand the blueprint behind it and, deep down, he felt that it was something of his father's design.

For a brief moment, on that chariot in front of thousands of live fans and millions nationwide, he allowed himself to miss his father and silently paid respect to the unbelievable sacrifice and secret Mica had revealed to him in their final moments together.

Tech's reverence was short-lived as the crowd, so obsessed and compelled by the shiny things and attractive teenagers, exploded into cheers. He felt Porcelain's hands grip his own tighter than necessary.

Tech understood that this wasn't out of ferocity.

It was a peace offering, but he still wasn't willing to fully accept it.

**IV. President Clemens was dangerous.**

This wasn't an entirely new understanding, as Clemens had taken over a few years prior and it wasn't a job for the faint of heart. The whispers among the population, at least in District Three, was his appointment as the most powerful man in Panem was something he had orchestrated. Naturally, the lowly citizens of the nation could never know the absolute truth, let alone any of the specifics, but his imposing figure was nothing short of terrifying. He was a military man with a military mindstate. With few threats of bodily harm and it was safe to say that the brittle politicians in the Capitol would quickly surrender.

And, as Clemens stood in front of the frantic masses during the chariot ride, reaffirming the dominance of the Capitol and restating the essential nature of the Hunger Games, he briefly had made eye contact with Tech and Porcelain, still slightly glowing from their light show.

He seemed to have grinned, but it didn't seem to be out of respect of enjoyment.

It looked like a threat.

nt here...


	7. Ox

**I had sincere intentions of putting up a chapter a day, but you'd be surprised how much attention a newborn requires. :) Thank you to those of you that are reading this. I assure you, it only gets more exciting. **

As training commenced early the next morning, Tech and Porcelain exchanged no words at all. When they had exited their chariots the evening prior, the exchanged a "did-you-see-what-I-just-saw" glance in regards to Clemens' foreboding eye contact, and that was enough. Tech may not have liked or trusted Porcelain, but he was beginning to see that they could communicate.

"Could," not "would."

Afterall, this was a Quarter Quell and this _certainly _was still Panem. Individuality and expression were not highly valued by the Capitol and their chariot ride was in direct defiance of that principle.

In his issued training attire with the "3" pathetically stitched to the back, Tech entered the cafeteria where he and his fellow Tributes would meet for the first time. During the chariot rides, they had been kept fairly secluded, so this assembly was their initial introduction.

_Like the first day of school except we will have killed each other by the last day._

Tech and Revere had discussed the importance of alliances, about forming strong bonds that would prove essential to survival once inside of the arena. Typically, Revere said, the Tributes will show their allegiances during training as an intimidation factor. Revere said this consistently worked the Tributes from Three into a useless frenzy and impaired them from reacting appropriately once the Games started.

Tech, however, had formulated his own plan.

His Games may end before they begin, but he had to try it. If he was dying in less than a week, at least he had gone for it in a way he believed in. Being proactive, not reactive, was something he had learned in "Boxing."

Tech showed up promptly at 7:50 in the morning, despite the itinerary they were forced to follow saying 8:00. Through Revere's "invaluable" advice, he was told to show up late as too not seem to eager or concerned.

But Tech understood he would never intimidate the volunteers, so he needed to approach the Games differently. Tech _wanted_ to seem concerned, and he knew exactly who else would be at Training early.

Sitting alone in the cafeteria was the Ox from District Seven.

Tech pegged him immediately as being the punctual type based on his Reaping footage. Granted, Tech hated how he had been presented based on his own behavior during the Reaping in D3, but he had realized the night before that was the most accurate depiction of his personality that he had ever been allowed himself to reveal. Tech was defiant, though it had always been in private, and with his likely death looming he had permitted his spirit to show. It was a fighter's spirit and he was no longer embarrassed of marching through the "brilliant minds" that saved themselves at his expense.

Ox was obviously a worker so loyal that he had merely attended the Reapings during a break from his job based on his attire and the ax he held naturally at his side. Candidates for the Reapings were always treated with a distinct pity that allowed them to skip out on whatever responsibilities they may have in their community so that they can dwell on the potentially fatal outcome of their day. Ox had, in Tech's eyes, just been on lunch and was probably intially upset that he didn't get to finish his work for the day.

Tech was not underestimating the man's intelligence, which was what the broadcasters had done during the Reaping replays. Tech respected him, despite nicknaming him "Ox" in his head, because he seemed like the only trustworthy Tribute out of the bunch that could also serve as a physical asset.

In the otherwise empty messhall, Tech swiftly grabbed his food—one of the most delicious, protein-filled plates he had ever seen in his life—and sat directly in front of Ox. Much like his introduction to Priscilla, he got right to the point. Time was limited before the other Tributes decided to make their debut and he wanted to be ahead of the game.

"I'm Tech."

Ox looked up from his already half-eaten plate—he had been early—and studied Tech was eyes that showed a maturity and demeanor far beyond his 17 years. "I'm Timber."

Timber, from the lumber district, and Tech, from the Technology district. The irony was disgusting and almost made Tech laugh aloud, but he contained himself; this was his chance.

"Timber, we don't have a lot of time, so I'll keep it brief." Tech was channeling his father, Mica, for this conversation. As far as Tech could put together, there is nobody else to serve as a model for his behavior.

"If you agree, tell me at the end and, if not, then we move on and never discuss this again. I know how to fight and I've been training for half of my life. My hand-to-hand combat skills exceed all of our fellow Tributes."

Tech showed Timber his hands, battered and remarkably weathered after years of fighting the antiqued boxing equipment in his maintenance closet.

"I'm strong, I'm not an idiot, and I know you aren't either. It doesn't take a 'genius,'" Tech cringed at the word, "to recognize that you know your way around an axe. So, the proposal: I will ignore you the rest of the training and, I expect, you'll reciprocate unless something wildly important happens. You need to show the Gamemakers and other Tributes what you can do with an axe, which will assure that there are some in the Cornucopia. During the initial sprint, I will make the dash and get those axes because no one would ever expect me, the reclusive, overrated nerd from Three, to grab them. You stay on the periphery and grab supplies and, hopefully, something sharp I can defend myself with. We both head left, LEFT, from the starting blocks and meet at least a mile in. We work together, defend each other until we decide to part ways and wish each other the best. Timber, you are my only hope for alliance.

"The kids from the districts that train, they will pursue you for alliances because of the strength and skill I know you have. If you agree to this right now, you can say anything you want to them and I will trust that you're on my side once that initial bell sounds. My name is Tech Narrows, I'm the least liked guy in District Three, and I want us to help each other live."

Timber had never broken eye contact and never flinched. Tech couldn't tell if he was going to get a fork to the neck or a table shattered over his head, but Tech had the element of surprise and Timber seemed like the type of guy that appreciated a direct offer. Timber was formulating a response as a boisterous clamor came from outside the cafeteria. Timber heard it, too, and his response was immediate.

"Is your girl part of the package?"

Tech didn't hesitate. "I have no idea who she is, but she certainly isn't on my side. It's either you and me, or just you and just me. I have no else to partner with, and if you partner with the volunteers they will kill you in your sleep."

"Left?"

"Left."

"Done."

And with that, Timber stood and moved to the adjacent table with his back towards Tech as a handful of Tributes sauntered in to get their food.

Tech shouted a whisper, "Is that our hand shake?"

Timber, unturning, issued a nearly imperceptible nod.


	8. This Is Not A Love Story

**Training is broken into two sections, which are no chronological. This chapter represents the events of the Training facility through the course of the week. The next will be Tech studying. Stick with me, I want to post faster but I need to make sure I do this thing justice. Thanks for reading!**

The five days before the Games, in Tech's mind, were broken up into two unique sections: Training and Post-Training.

Tech had assumed that his secret training in D3 would be the key to any lasting success he would have in Games, but it was apparent that a lifetime of selling himself short was easily his greatest asset.

The posturing of the kids from One and Two was ridiculous. Tech would have insulted them vocally, but he couldn't deny how deadly they were, no matter how overt their behavior was.

Tech had missed the Reapings from D1, but their flamboyance during that first day of training quickly brought him to speed. Tech had found out during breakfast that female's name was Perfume and the male, even more absurdly, was named Poetry.

_Perfume_? _Poetry_? Tech was surprised one of them wasn't named Porcelain.

"There is absolutely no way they can be okay with names like that," Tech mumbled as he restrained a condescending laugh.

Twenty minutes later, in training, Tech changed his tune.

Perfume used a whip like it was extension of herself. She took targets off of the rod iron beams ten feet in front of her two at time, then turned 90 degrees and sliced the throat of an unassuming body form that was supposed to be used for knife throwing station. The body was quickly removed and replaced, but act left sent some of the younger Tributes cowering to the survival skills booths.

Poetry was, by far, the most arrogant Tribute in the room, despite stiff copetition for the title. When Tech had watched the Reapings, he quickly assumed that the kids from Two were going to be his major threats based on their pomposity. That was before Poetry took his training shirt off to reveal a sculpted body that showed a lifetime of training, tied it around his eyes, grabbed a handful of serrated blades and threw them dead in the chests of the mannequins that had recently been replaced after Perfume's whip spectacle.

Poetry and Perfume were both 18 and, as far as Tech could deduce, must have begged or bribed their voting public into having a shot at Hunger Games glory.

The barbarians from District Two couldn't keep their hands off of each other. The system of allowing people to vote in their Tributes was clearly a mixed bag of results. Tech wondered to himself what kind of world he lived in where two children—in a relationship—were the majority pick to go into a competition where, at best, one of them came out alive. These kids, though deadly, were clearly ill-equipped intellectually and had been completely taken advantage of by the trainers in their home district. Tech pitied them nearly as much as he was afraid of them.

Personally, Tech spent most of his time learning survival skills and absorbing as much as he could in stations that were based in hand-to-hand combat. This wasn't an easy feat, as Tech was more skilled with his fists than his trainers were and Tech occasionally found himself working a bit too efficiently, in which case he would quickly tone it down as to not raise suspicions. He instructor looked to be in his mid-20's and was showing Tech the proper way to melee with various small weapons, ranging from knives to small swords he says are called sais.

Tech preferred boxing, but he had quickly accepted the terms of the Games. Tech hated the Capitol that was forcing him into this fight for his life, he hated the people that were the entertained by it and he hated the Gamemakers that made a living off of the destruction of children's lives and a nation's pride.

However, Tech wanted to live.

He wanted to go back to Three, live with his parents in the completely uninhabited Victor's Village and make everyone know that he was just something they were going to have to deal with. Tech wanted to make his district literally live with their decision everyday.

And, most importantly, Tech wanted to mentor. Revere was suitable, but he definitely wasn't visionary. Revere meant well, but he hadn't lived the Games. There must be a reason Districts One, Two and, more recently, Four, have produced multiple Victors over the last 15 years.

But Tech would have to survive, and to survive he needed to stay focused, so he worked with his weapons, studied the instructor the same was he studied his magazine and analyzed the competition. Outside of the mutants from One and Two, only a few Tributes stood out during the short week worth of Training sessions.

The miserable-seeming siblings from District 6 had been previously considered by Tech to be the weakest, saddest Tributes in the history of the Games. The boy was 13 and the girl had a year on him at the very most. They had dark hair and a nearly identical bowl haircut that made them look like awkward, hopeless twins. These two clearly grew in poverty because even the gaunt Tributes from 12 looked healthy when compared to these two skeletons.

Then the boy picked up a bow, lined up an arrow and blasted a body form straight in the face. His sister, with her own arrow, actually split her brother's arrow in half. Tech was one of a handful of Tributes that saw this spectacle, as it was never repeated. The two kids just politely handed their bows back to the instructor and sat down in the corner, participating in no more training activities of any kind for the rest of the week.

Tech wasn't sure what kind of power-play that was, but he liked their style and noted to remain cautious. These kids were from a District whose main function was to produce various forms of transportation for the Capitol; where had they learned archery?

The two kids from District Four were around Tech's age and spent their time exclusively at the station which focused on traps, both for people and game. They either felt confident in their fighting skills enough that they weren't willing to show all of their cards, or they wanted to impress the Tributes from One and Two by showing off a skill no one else possessed but could prove to be extremely valuable. They were efficient and continued picking up various techniques as the week went on. One thing the kids from Fou didn't notice they were revealing was that all of their traps were triggered by trip wires, so Tech would be sure to keep his knees high.

Tech had learned the first morning that Ox's actual name was Timber. He also learned that his suspicions about Timber were absolutely correct. Timber, true to their pact on the morning of the first day, was working with the axes with such ferocity that Tech was actually concerned he was trying to oversell his skills. Timber would grunt and roar like a crazed bear as he chopped mannequins in half with the large-handled axe, then become quiet, reserved and focused and he stuck a series of short-handled axes in various places of the body 20 feet away with startling accuracy.

Not surprisingly, the professional pack from One, Two and later Four, approached him cautiously but confidently during the afternoon meals, no doubt trying to get him on their side.

Tech had assumed this would happen and his nerves were knots in his stomach, but he wasn't going to ask Timber about his intentions. Either Timber was staying true to Tech and questioning him would represent a sincere lack of trust, or Timber did plan on betrayal and would simply lie to Tech's face. Regardless, Tech was continually forcing himself to trust his initial instinct. Tech needed Timber, and he hoped that requirement was a mutual feeling.

The entire Training period was like an equation with constantly changing variables.

Who aligns with who?

Who survives the first ten minutes?

What kind of arena provides an advantage or disadvantage to the various Tributes?

Tech had hardly spoken to Porcelain for four days. He had seen her attend almost every station and proved to be completely forgettable with everything she touched. She was toning down her aggression and talents in front of her competitors in the same way Tech was; he would have been shocked if she had done it any other way. Mediocrity is king in D3 and Porcelain was going stealth.

As Tech was leaving the final Training session, he was met briefly at the door by the female from District 11 who, days earlier at her own Reaping, had landed a haymaker so strong on the girl standing next to her in the crowd that it qualified as the first "K.O." Tech had ever seen. Tech remembers being extremely alarmed by her behavior, which may have been the only Tribute that had earned more attention than Ox, the kids from Two, or himself.

In person, she was beautiful, well-composed and mild-mannered, with dark skin, darker eyes and physique Tech found extremely attractive. He had been next to her at a few of the Training booths and they shared some laughs as they struggled with knots or helped each other study bugs they had never seen.

She approached with a sweet smile and, leaning against the wall, said, "I've never formally introduced myself. My mother would never forgive my lack of manners."

She laughed one of the most beautiful laughs he'd heard… well, he'd heard since Lit left him. "My name is June."

She extended her hand, which Tech took as casually as possible, never breaking eye contact.

"My name is Tech," he said in a shaky voice. If she was interested in an alliance, he would have a hard time turning her down. She was outstanding in the obstacle courses and proved pretty competent with a knife. Tech had paid particular attention to her, but only because he enjoyed paying attention to her. Tech was still 15 and hormones can be a difficult thing to rein in, even when facing certain death.

"Hey, Tech," she smiled. He found himself really loving that smile.

"I'm going to kill you first."


	9. Study

**Thanks to my small, but loyal, following. I appreciate it. Some people really like the ideas of previous Games, me included. I like the idea of the evolution of the Games, as well; seeing how the Games could have turned into what was written in the novels something this chapter focuses on. **

Tech had been caught completely off guard by June's threat. Actually, calling it a "threat" was doing it a disservice; this was a guarantee based on the conviction in her voice. Tech couldn't even respond, he just gave her a look of pure bewilderment, which June seemed to revel in for a moment before she turned and left.

As Tech stood dumbfounded, Porcelain approached him with a victorious strut. "She's on my side, _Technology_. Good luck in the arena tomorrow."

She gave him a wink, a quick pat on the cheek, and gleefully exited the Training room for the last time. Tech was thrown, but his experience outside of the Training Room over the course of the week had given him advantage no one, not even the omni-present Revere, was aware of.

* * *

The morning the train had arrived in the Capitol, Tech and Porcelain were escorted to their room on the third level of the Training Facility. The sun hadn't even come up when chrome elevator made its ascent to the third level. Once it opened, even Porcelain couldn't disguise her awe at their temporary residence.

The suite was, easily, the largest single room either of them had ever seen in their lives. Tales of the Capitol lifestyle are well-known, but those sensational rumors didn't hold a candle to the magnitude of the actual experience.

Naturally, Tech had been overwhelmed by the Capitol itself when he arrived. The scale of the city was impossibly large with a vividness that was reserved for dreams, and the accommodations within the 13 story Training Facility matched up flawlessly.

The ceilings were at least 20 feet tall with floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows on the far wall that provided a spectacular view to the packed city streets below. Beyond the dinette area on the left wall was a dazzling array of flowers which appeared to be in constant motion and, upon further inspection, were actually _floating_ independently. The furniture and décor, otherwise, was very similar to the luxurious setting Tech had fumbled around in on the Train.

Revere read their minds. "Soak it up, at least one of you will never see this place again."

Tech and Porcelain both turned their heads at him so fast it could have broken their necks.

Porcelain spoke for both of them. "How can you be so apathetic? We have to fight, not you, you overdressed henchmen. You haven't even been inside the Hunger Games, you are just an employee—an employee with a ridiculously terrible track record—that gets a free trip to District Three and back every year to watch a couple of kids get killed. I'm going to sleep. Don't wake me up."

Revere began to object, but didn't get a chance to as she stomped into one of the bedrooms that flanked the main lounge area of the suite and slammed the door. "That one is supposed to be for Tech," he mumbled, and then said as a follow up, "I will just bring her wardrobe and toiletries from the other room."

Revere looked deflated and Tech understood why. Revere had misspoken and lost the respect and trust of half his Tributes and they hadn't even gone through the opening ceremonies. Tech was coming to understand Revere's flaws, but if Porcelain wasn't going to at least listen to what Revere had to say, then Tech certainly would. Afterall, Tech thought, he will take advantages whenever he can.

Tech and Revere made their way to the room adjacent to the one Porcelain had claimed as her own. Tech was exhausted and Revere, begrudgingly, had to retrieve the items that were intended for Porcelain. The bedroom had a distinctly feminine decoration to it, which couldn't have been more ill-suited for a viper like Porcelain. The thought of Porcelain slipping into the bathtub that was already filled with flower-scented bath salts and rose petals was so ludicrous that Tech didn't even bother to restrain laughter.

"Sure hope she isn't upset that she didn't miss bathtime."

"Agreed," Revere said with an armful of female training attire, "maybe she would have drowned herself. I'll grab your clothes from the other room and leave them outside. Hit the shower. The television is voice commanded and there is a box of extended footage from all of the previous Games in the media cabinet for some light entertainment. You have the day to yourself until you meet your stylist at 3:00. Don't leave the room or stand too close to the window."

Tech couldn't believe it. Sure, he had watched the previous Games when pressure was applied or he thought someone may check up on him, but he was a captive audience. Technically, he was still captive, but he saw the previous Games as study material. It's been 24 years, but Tributes are still essentially the same and patterns of behavior during the high stress situations that he will certainly face are vital. Tech dedicated himself, immediately to watching them all.

"Wait," Tech spoke to the now-empty room, "what's the danger with the window?"

Tech walked over to get a better look at the sun that was beginning to rise over the mountainous backdrop of the Capitol and was instantly blinded by the flashing lights on the crowded streets below. Tech let out a wholly unbecomingly yelp as he stumbled back towards the center of his room.

"Told you not to go towards the window. See you in the paper tomorrow," Revere hollered from the main lobby of the suite. "Why don't they ever listen about the windows?"

* * *

Tech quickly showered, avoiding all of the excess of the technological fixtures inside of it and brewed himself a pot of coffee. The design was distinctly his father's, complete with the "chameleon cup" technology to match the cup holder's attire. Tech couldn't help himself as he put on three layers of clothing Revere had placed outside of his room, then quickly tore them off to watch the mug try and keep up. Tech had had the prototype of this at his home in Three and, as a child, was used by his father to beta test the product in the exact same fashion.

Juvenile? Absolutely, but it reminded Tech of home.

Realizing he would never make it through the entire catalog of Games footage, Tech resorted to only skimming through the first dozen or so to get a grasp on the arenas and the development and evolution of the mutts. The Head Gamemaker had not changed and, though he was likely nearing the end of his tenure, at least Tech could analyze his devices.

Following the first half of the Games years, two major changes occurred that severely heightened the immediate danger of the Games. The first was that Tributes started volunteering from One and Two, with Four following suit some time after. The Games, with the introduction of these trained Tributes, had been fundamentally altered into a much more precise, brutal, cut-throat event. The remaining districts had produced scattered Victors since that time, but the affluence in the trained districts afforded their children time to hone their violent skills. In other Districts, a child's only choice, typically, was to work or starve. They didn't need Games to feel the risk of death, they already felt it in their home districts on a daily basis.

The second major change was the introduction of "The Feast," a concept so revolutionary that it became an instant staple in the Games. During the first several years, kids would die off in an uninteresting fashion, due to lingering injuries, starvation, or exposure to the elements, and interest began to deteriorate within the Capitol. The Capitol realized their mutts weren't particularly effective because they were attacking Tributes that were looking for a way to die.

The Feast provided hope in the way of food, water, weapons or, in rare cases, a combination of the three. It gave the Games a bit of refreshment after what usually amounted to roughly two weeks of grueling survival for the Tributes. It provided them what Tributes perceived as a second chance at victory, but always ended in death for roughly half of the remaining field.

Tech put in the disk for the first Hunger Games and laid across his bed with a gold-lined parchment notebook and silver ink pen—_Could the Capitol be any more wasteful_?—and began taking notes as the sun rose outside. Tech noted that he may have very few sunsets left and took a minute to watch it slowly, gracefully rise before hunkering down for what would be ritualistic note-taking.

* * *

During all of his off time over the course of the week, Tech studied the Games as a researcher and forced himself to become detached from the mindless violence he was subjecting himself to. Tech felt that desensitizing himself from that violence may help him in the arena, but he wasn't sure if he was at ease with his comfort as he viewed the mass murders as a researcher.

On his final night of freedom before he headed out to the Interviews that evening and the arena the following morning, Tech had only enough time left to watch the 19th Games. June's threat was still fresh in his head and he felt now, more than ever, extremely ill-prepared for the Games he thought he may have had a sneaking chance at it. To try and calm himself, Tech definitively decided to fit in one more set of highlights.

He hadn't been capable of finishing them all and getting a reasonable amount of his sleep, but he was willing to skip the latter years, as he had watched them live and the memories were still engraved in his mind. Tech quickly reviewed his final notes:

**_Notes from HGs 1-12 (pre-Volunteers, pre-Feast)_**_:_

_**Arenas**__: All outdoors with complete range of climates and atmospheres. Forms of coniferous forests or barren wintery climates are most often repeated. Gamemakers originality was lacking, as viewers were probably interested in violence alone. Demand must have grown for more shock. Cornucopia packed the same way, all items inside, leading to either an enormous kill count—first six Games—or mass fleeing away—Games 6-12. Starvation equal throughout, but under entirely different circumstances. _

_The first six Games had very similar story: shocked Tributes unready to kill, so afraid of confrontation that they would hide or stay stationary. The one or two murderous Tributes would slowly pick off the kids that survived the initial massacre as they began to starve until only two or three physically fierce competitors remained. These kids would head back to the Cornucopia looking to finish the Games._

_Games 6-12 became increasingly less interesting from the standpoint of a viewer with bloodlust. Kids would starve or die from the elements as they hid. The amount of overall battles was drastically decreased, but the introduction of muttations in the sixth Games was so horrifying and unexpected that it hardly constituted as entertaining. Tributes in subsequent Games understood these risks but certainly weren't prepared, even though the mutts were essentially the same: oversized insects in large numbers that swarmed or modified versions of jungle animals with sharper teeth. The few Tributes that survived these attacks did so by running, not attacking. Mutts seemed to have a predetermined fighting area they didn't appear to ever escape._

_Tributes began to work with each other outside of their district pairings, but the results were sloppy and unsuccessful. Nearly all of them resulted in a murder during sleep._

_**Winning districts, in order**__: 6 male, 12 female, 11 female, 8 female, 4 female, 6 male, 2 male, 9 male, 1 female, 7 male, 10 male, 6 female_

_Females won a majority of the Games based on intelligence or a unique skill with a weapon. All males won based entirely on brute strength._

_**Notes from HG 13-18**__:_

_**Arenas**__: Outdoor is still most common, but the introduction of professional Tributes gave the Gamemakers flexibility because they could put the Tributes in a wider array of arenas but with much more interesting results. A small piece of farmland, one side of a mountain, an abandoned city, an island._

_The Cornucopia also made a severe, but permanent change. Items began to be scattered in a gradient, where the most useless items were closer to the launch plates, with items growing in value as they neared the mouth of the Cornucopia. It kept more kids involved in the blood bath and allowed the weaker Tributes to be picked off earlier. The average kill count in the first 10 minutes increased from 6 to 11. _

_The weapons also began to be focused on the strengths of the contenders rather than a set amount of swords, knives, bows and arrows, etc.. Further, during the Game in the abandoned city, kids were only given close range weapons, while the farmland gave almost exclusively long range weapons, which worked on a dual front of providing abrupt, unexpected death from afar, as well as brutal hand to hand death for the Tributes that couldn't adequately function those weapons. _

_Mutts became much more selective, residing almost ALWAYS in areas that appeared safe as to lure Tributes in. _

_Gamemakers also introduced disasters in order to draw kids together. A fire in a field which destroyed a food source, the removal of all of the huntable game baring one particular region, a volcano on the island to wipe out half of the playable area. These became the norm and prepared Tributes expected them and planned accordingly._

_The 13__th__ Games marked the introduction of the first volunteers, from District 1. Clearly a tandem, these two aligned in the most obvious way the Games had ever seen and ran the competition away quickly. They stayed together to the end and the female, immediately after the male killed the 3__rd__ place Tribute, broke the male's neck. They never discussed what would happen if they were the only two left and the male was caught completely off guard. _

_The 15__th__ games began the volunteering from District Two, the 18__th__ was the first year for District Four._

_Volunteered Tributes were ultra efficient and always turned on each other out of arrogance, not a predesigned plan, once there were 8 or so left._

_The Feast, aside from the mountainside year where all that was presented was a bag of uncooked rice, was completely beneficial to the Tributes that survived. _

_Tributes that won outside of the volunteer districts did so only two times, all due to infighting among the volunteers or brilliant game plans. The district five female, for instance, used the venom of a snake mutt to poison the food of the only two remaining Tributes. There was no final battle, just a slow death while the District Five female watched. _

_Winning Districts: 1 female, 1 male, 7 male, 2 female, 5 female, 4 female._

**_District 3 is only district without a Victor as of the 17_****_th_****_ Games._**

**_Game plan:_**

- **_Rush the Corncucopia, but do not fight unless needed. Grab the axes, a pack if possible, and run. _**

- **_Do not flirt with the idea of messing with the volunteers. They are exclusive and arrogant. Risk is higher than reward, but they love using outside Tributes and then swiftly turning on them once their purpose is served._**

- **_Use the arena. If the Gamemakers throw their weapons at you, use them as weapons on someone else. _**

- **_Attack first. Dialogue among Tributes swearing they "won't hurt each other" when they randomly meet in the arena has never turned into an actual alliance._**

- **_Don't trust your district partner._**

- **_Don't be the first one to the Feast, but take as much as possible once you do arrive._**

- **_Avoid safe looking areas._**

- **_Always know how many Tributes are left. The daily recap doesn't keep track._**

- **_As the Game reaches the Final 8, avoid ALL major landmarks except for the Feast, no matter how bountiful with food or water they may be. Gamemakers use these as backdrops to show their superiority._**

- **_No one has ever had their primary skill be the use of force from their bare hands. Don't forget you have that advantage. _**

- **_MOST IMPORTANT: Always remember, you are on camera. Kill, but do so likeably._**

* * *

Tech, in retrospect, almost could have avoided the first dozen Games entirely. Their usefulness was only in showing how the Games came to be where they are. The final six he watched set the precedent. Since it was a Quell, the arena was likely to be something entirely original, so it was a waste of time to try and forecast that. However, the base component of the Games, the Tributes, never changed. The volunteers were all very similar in nature, as were the rest of the kids that were typically just victims. Tech did not fit either of those molds, and he saw in the later games that the kids that won outside of One and Two were wildly intelligent and ruthlessly deadly.

Tech made the decision at that moment to be one of the cutthroat, but to make sure he did so in appealing fashion as to maintain sponsor potential.

"Kill everybody, but do so likeably." Had he really written that?

Yes, Tech realized sullenly, and he meant it.

Tech opened up the disk case for his final viewing, the 19th Games, when a slip of folded parchment delicately dropped out of it and onto the carpet of his bedroom in the Training facility.

Tech put the disk into the player, opened the paper, and began to shake.

_If you are studying, watch the District 10 female and how she manipulates 1, 2 and 4._

_Also, are plates activated before they lock into place? Could this be exploited? _

_This is how to win._

_If I haven't met you so I can tell you this myself, good luck, Three._

The handwriting was distinctly Lit's.


	10. A Tie With Threes

**Note: Because this is an early incarnation of the Games, I altered the way training scores were done. I wasn't being lazy or forgetful, this just seems like a way to show the Games continued to evolve.**

**The next few chapters are pretty lengthy. I considered breaking them up, but the reviews I've received are so complimentary and interested that I kept them together .**

Lit.

Lit wrote him a letter. Sure, it wasn't to Tech, specifically—not even in her wildest nightmares would she have assumed her best friend would be sent to the Games only two years after she had. But still, this letter personified his old friend. Kind, helpful and observant even in the face of indescribable adversity. She wanted to assist the Tributes after her, whether she lived or not. Tech hadn't even considered leaving behind his notes, but he now had a change of heart.

Tech was getting low on time, and he knew that a Lit memory session was completely consuming. _Stay focused, Tech, and follow your friend's advice._

Tech put in the disk for the 19th Games and watched attentively, specifically to see what Lit was talking about.

Slowly, the Tributes elevated into the arena on their starting plates, which were cylindrical and rose up from their launch rooms below the arena. Tech watched the scene over and over, despite having seen it the films for all of the previous Games, and finally realized what Lit noticed. The plates, which assure each Tribute doesn't leave early, are equipped with high power explosives. These plates are ultra sensitive and, in the early years of the Games, several Tributes had nervously shifted their weight wrong or lost their balance, resulting in catastrophic death. It was during his fourth viewing that Tech saw it.

The starting plates _clicked_.

He watched it over and over and began to understand the mechanism. The plates don't begin looking for weight until they are locked into place at the surface of the arena. Before that, they are just the floor of an elevator until activated.

_So what?_

Tech knew Lit had it felt it important enough to write down, but he would take a look again after the interviews if there was time. He wanted to make sure he saw this District 10 girl in action.

This arena was an absolute nightmare. It was a wide-open, barren desert. Completely flat and seemingly reaching forever, the overview camera shot revealed that there was no body of water outside of the Cornucopia (which actually had a water spicket). The only other source of water was inside of the highly poisonous animals that were in great abundance across the map, but the Tributes were going to need to discover that on their own.

The girl from Ten saw the comically large faucet on the side of the Cornucopia, looked at the desert, and made a decision Tech thought was brilliant… And dangerous. When the one minute countdown to begin the Games hit zero, Ten took off with a speed that greatly outmatched all of the other tributes. She grabbed the long handled axe and a backpack at full speed and, without losing a step, ran straight at the faucet that sat on the outside edge of the Cornucopia.

Despite being unskilled with the axe, it took her two crude chops—two crude chops she had time for due to her overpowering pace—and she severed the knob straight off of the top, grabbed it, and took off past the Cornucopia and into the desert.

Within 30 seconds of the Game beginning, District 10 held all of the power in the Game because, without the knob, the faucet was useless.

The Tributes that didn't realize the Capitol engineered animals were full of water died off in the early stages. The Games must have been some of the quickest ever, as Tributes battled hallucinations and the volunteer pack, now on the move because they had no water source outside of the full canteens they had found, needed water to survive.

In less than a week, the field was down to seven Tributes: all six volunteers, which were still sticking together because they didn't have the strength or mental capacity to leave one another, and Ten, who quickly figured out the mutt water and spent her time slaughtering them on the outskirts of the arena. Ten found the remaining Tributes in an exhaustedlate in the evening, which was the only time the heat was reasonable, and planted the nozzle next to the pack of the District Two boy, who was handily the strongest competitor in the remaining field. She then took off, sat behind a nearby rock, and waited.

What followed was absolute chaos.

The girl from Four woke up all of her fellow Tributes screaming, insisting the male from Two had had water all along and was in collusion with the female from Ten. The boy from Four shifted blame, insisting he had never trusted the relationship between the male and female from Two, and the kids from One pointed fingers at _all _of their remaining alliance, saying it had been long-term conspiracy against them. Weapons were drawn and a hysterical, bloody massacre followed, leaving one badly wounded Tribute from the original volunteer pack clinging to life.

Ten lodged her axe in her final opponent's throat without any resistance and became a Victor.

It looked simple.

* * *

Tech was completely inattentive as Revere and Priscilla began prepping him for his nationally televised interview that evening.

_So, Lit used the same method the girl from Ten used, but I can't count on being able to do that. I won't be in caves and there is no way they will telegraph the water source like that ever again. That is useless, Lit. I get that I need to use my intelligence, but I was never as smart as you were. It would never work. _

_And I see how the starting plates don't engage until locked in, but what good does that do me, either? Try and distract that kid next to me? Get a life sized dummy of myself and send it up in my place? Frustrating, Lit. The last note you ever wrote does me no good at all. I wish I could just—_

"TECH!"

Revere hollered as Priscilla slapped Tech cleanly across the face. The three of them were alone in Tech's prep room and Tech hadn't listened to a word they had said to him as the broadcast was about to begin.

Because this was Panem's first introduction to the Quarter Quell, the scene in the auditorium was electric. The format of the Interviews was changed substantially from the previous years, a change which was not revealed until earlier that day. The Tributes would still be put on display, dressed up in a way as to make them seem desirable and not as means to the Capitol's bloodlust, but now they would be given a score based on their performance over the course of the week in Training. The Gamemakers were omnipresent during the Training, standing above the Tributes, staring at them through a glass ceiling and diligently taking notes on the behaviors of the Tributes.

The presentation of these scores would drastically alter the strategy of the Games as the kids who received high scores would likely be early betting favorites and, far more importantly, would become the preferred Tributes of the sponsoring public.

Tech hadn't done anything to standout during the Training, aside from learn how to use weapons in close combat and get a promise of painful death from the female Tribute from District 11.

_Should be a wild night_.

Revere was hovering nervously and appearing purposeless, but it was understandable. Over the course of the week, Tech and Porcelain had given him absolutely nothing to do. The D3 Tributes had never occupied the common area of their suite simultaneously since they first walked into the palatial space with the floating, ever-changing floral arrangements over a week ago. While Tech remained cordial to Revere, he didn't feel much of a need for his mentor because his mentor had absolutely no experience that was useful to him. Sure, Revere meant well, but Tech wanted to study from a reliable source so he gorged himself with previous footage and brushed Revere to the side.

Porcelain had thrown a champagne glass at him in the late evening of the first night, which hadn't helped his self-esteem much. She found the booze and had drank rather heavily in her room. When Revere responded to the ruckus, he caught the flute in the forehead, screamed in agony and ran out of the room.

The dozen or so Capitol issued stitches in forehead made him look hilarious. Tech hated Porcelain, but he appreciated her for giving him a good laugh in before the life-changing interviews. Tech didn't specifically wish harm to Revere, but Revere was a product of the Capitol public that forced Tech to give his life for their casual viewing, and Tech couldn't help but resent him slightly for it. Revere was kind and awkward and never purposely malicious, but he was still an employee of the Capitol and Tech had had a hard time looking past that.

As for Tech and Porcelain, they had shared a brief moment during the chariot ride when she gripped his hands with an unpredictable amount of affection, only to be given a mysteriously ominous glace by President Clemens, but they hadn't spoken about it at all. Tech knew every element of his pre-Games life was being monitored, so he didn't dare mention it aloud. He assumed Porcelain shared this understanding. Tech was not under the pretense that there was a secret friendship between himself and Porcelain or that the alliance they had chosen to perpetrate on the train as a means of confusion actually meant anything more than keeping up appearances, but Tech felt an inexplicable bond he wasn't certain was reciprocated.

Tech took notice of the urgency in Revere's eyes and finally looked towards him. Sweat was collecting on Revere's forehead and his eyes looked cracked and red in a way that indicated that he was restraining tears.

"Tech, please. Please win."

Revere, the typically composed, seemingly detached mentor, wasn't even trying to hide his tears.

"I've never had a pair of Tributes that I thought had the potential to make it back. You two, you—you're special. You react to these situations your thrown into naturally and patiently. Your outbursts are collected, you stay poised. You're intelligent, Tech, just like the two dozen kids I've sent to their deaths, but you're practical. You can make it out, you or Porcelain. She hates me, which is fine—it's fine. It's expected, but she's fierce. You may need her, Tech, but she has gone completely solo in this so you will need to reconcile when the time comes. Be the bigger man, but don't be desperate or weak, especially in the presence of champagne."

The joke was forced, but Tech appreciated Revere trying to lighten the heavy mood he had created. Tech decided his indifference towards Revere blossomed from a perceived indifference from Revere. Tech had a built in defense-mechanism for being overlooked and underappreciated after years of purposely coming in last, years of subtly seeking the attention of parents despite being the only child in the house.

It had been two years since he lost Lit and, aside from asking Priscilla for help and Timber for an alliance, he hadn't made a legitimate attempt at a trusting relationship. Tech realized his only recent efforts were in the face of certain death, so he ignored those, but here stood Revere, tears dropping from the end of his beard onto his designer-made tie adorned with almost imperceptible "3's," extending a sincere piece of emotion.

Tech thought of his boxing and decided now, before the interviews, was the appropriate time to let his guard down, but only until he was on stage and had to make himself likeable.

"Revere, I'm scared. I can handle Porcelain, maybe even her friend, the assassin from 11. I've made an alliance you'll laugh at if I—_when I_—survive the Cornucopia and if I don't get immediately betrayed, but I need—I need sponsors, Revere. I need to appear desired in order to be desired. I will do my part in the interview, I will, and I will try to survive the initial killing, but you _have to _find me help. I don't care how you sell me or my skills, just do it. Revere, can you do that?"

Revere had a new demeanor immediately. His shoulders broadened and he brushed the dampness from from his eyes. He looked proud. He looked like he had a purpose.

Revere nodded.

Priscilla had realized this was a moment of great importance to the two of them, so she muttered a half-hearted excuse and respectfully exited the prep room. The interviewer could be heard in the auditorium loosening up the delighted crowd.

Tech spoke clearly but quietly, forcing Revere to push his ear closer to Tech's mouth. They both were appropriately paranoid regarding the constant surveillance of the Tributes.

"Revere, do you remember boxing, from before they started the Games, before the revolution? I know you do, which is why I need you to know that I've been training myself in it for the last eight years, every single day. I'm conditioned, I'm good, and in training I watered myself down, but still—I now can use weapons effectively added to my years of work. On the train, you were right about my hands, I've been hitting the hell out of something for half of my life.

"Also, Porcelain seems to be working with the girl from 11, who politely promised to kill me, I've formed an alliance but I will leave that as a surprise, and Lit was my best friend and I will win because she couldn't."

Tech hadn't meant to tell him about Lit, but it rolled out of his mouth and, frankly, it was a relief. After unloading the secrets he kept to himself, he felt burdenless.

Revere slowly pulled his head back, masking his shock. Tech stood to leave, hearing that District One's male was being introduced.

Revere quickly spoke into his ear, "I've already found you a sponsor and Porcelain says she is still following your plan."


	11. Porcelain Gives It A Shot

**Long week. I may put up another chapter tonight. If not, tomorrow. Thanks, team. **

Tech and Porcelain had agreed on the train—which now felt like a distant memory—that they would simulate an alliance on the chariots, do whatever they felt was in their individual best interest during Training, and then give their other Tributes a serious sense of doubt when they appeared to be a tandem during the Interviews.

Tech knew Timber may be scared off by the act, but he trusted Timber's perceptive skills. Besides, there was no turning back once Porcelain went to give her interview; Tech had given his word.

Watching the Interviews backstage, Tech was able to see the newly introduced Training scores, which served as a ranking tool for the gambling public. Tech thought the scores were completely useless to the competitors as the had watched every single one of the Tributes in Training. These wouldn't be any sort of surprise to any of the kids going into the Games, but it made the audience feel like a "part of the action," the broadcasters promised.

_If the audience wants to be a part of the action, they can take my place._

The male from One, Poetry, was trying far too hard to be charismatic and likeable, which poured out during his interview. His smarminess was off-putting, but his 11 caused an audible gasp from the audience. The scores were only out of 12 and there was no explanation behind them at all, so the Districts would have to wait and see Poetry's knife skills in action.

Perfume, Poetry's counterpart, tried to act innocent despite her own 11, which made her decidedly deadly. Tech figured they would likely kill him, but he could at least outinterview them.

The Tributes from Two gave braggadocio interviews about how they came here to win together, even though that was legitimately impossible. The female even gave the impression that she was looking forward to the chance to fight her district partner for a grand finale, which went entirely against her previous statement of love and adoration towards him.

Naturally, the crowd ignored this contradiction and erupted. They both scored 11's as well, which seemed to be a favorite number of the Gamemakers. Tech figured throwing out a 12 immediately would be a bit forward. However, any notice of scores or Interviews or the Games or even breathing quickly vacated Tech's mind as Porcelain strode on stage.

Tech assumed that Porcelain's rainbow-tattooed stylist had spent hours getting her make-up in the finest shape possible to match with the cheery exterior Porcelain had presented during her selection at the Reaping. By putting Porcelain in a white dress, Tech figured she was intended to look innocent, bridal even.

Porcelain could not have defied expectations any more.

Porcelain walked onto the stage with her make up smeared and smothered all over her face and dress, which she had a newly ripped slit in the side. She wore no shoes and had obviously ran her hands furiously through her short black hair, causing it to spike up in every direction but the intended one.

She was decidedly a self-customized mess and, in her stained dressed and massacred make-up, Porcelain strutted up to her seat for the interview in front of a stunned crowd.

The Interviewer, an older, dapper television personality that went simply by the name "D," stared blankly. Porcelain obviously expected this and, before D could find words, she started interviewing herself with using a wildly outlandish, offensive impersonation of the Capitol accent.

Tech, like every other citizen in Panem, was helpless but to watch.

"_So, Porcelain, are you SO excited that your District gave you the HONOR of representing them in the Hunger Games?_

"I _absolutely_ am, D. People were afraid to tell me to my face in Three that they hated me and were terrified of me. The Quell gave them a perfect way to show their support of me dying."

Tech looked to Revere, whose mouth gaped as though he'd just seen a murder, which maybe he had, because Porcelain just assured herself an early Gamemaker special. Porcelain, however, was just getting started. D, putting his best fake grin, tried to salvage the trainwreck that was unfolding him.

"Well, Ms. Amundson, aren't you spunky! Your moxie will serve you well in the arena, won't it, audience?"

D looked nervous, and the crowd wasn't giving him any support. There was nobody coming to his rescue and the production team behind the cameras were talking to each other frantically, no doubt considering cutting the broadcast. Porcelain, realizing her time on stage was growing much shorter, went from flippant to serious at the same speed she had switched her demeanor on the train.

"My father used to hurt me, D. Were you going to ask about that, or were you going to ask how I managed to only score a 6 in Training? Keep it surface, I know how you operate. Well, let _me _let _you _in on a secret."

Porcelain leaned in, pretending to whisper into D's microphone in a chillingly chipper manner. "When I was eight, my father was in the middle of a legendary argument with my mother; holes in the wall, broken bottles, which we had no shortage of, and hitting. Lots of hitting. I knew I needed to protect my family, so I killed him, D. I killed my-my own father and made it look like an accident."

The collective gasp of the crowd wasn't one of concern, Tech considered disgustedly, it was one of curiosity and interest. These people were eating this up because the Tributes, to these spectators, weren't real people. They were characters and Tech began to see that Porcelain, with her haggard appearance and murderous story, was winning them over by turning herself into a charity case. Porcelain, to them, was an unstable little girl with a serious emotional scar.

Tech was mortified, but he also found himself enjoying her craziness. The Capitol deserves a Porcelain in their lives for the terrors the citizens of Panem endure daily, a terror which is only amplified by the threat of the Reapings and the gore of the Games.

His mild satisfaction, however, was short-lived.

"Wouldn't you do the same, D? I know Tech would." Startled, Tech gave his full attention to the monitor in the back of the auditorium as though he heard his name aloud for the very first time in his life..

"Afterall, it was Tech's idea to murder him."

Porcelain, in her destroyed white gown, waved and offered a friendly smile to the audience as she dismissed herself.


	12. Breaking Rules

__**This chapter is a monster, but the Games start at the end of it. Thanks for reading. **

_I'm dead._

Tech could feel the blood draining from his brain and he watched Porcelain skip off of the stage. He needed to calm himself down, which was typically his strength, but Tech felt blindsided.

As he walked into the silent auditorium after his name had been announced, Tech took a moment to absorb his surroundings. While the room was noiseless, the cameras were still flashing to get a shot of Tech, the father killer. The auditorium was completely full of the Capitol's most colorful elite, and all eyes were on Tech.

Tech was _against the ropes_, and he had about four steps to come up with a plan. D stood and hesitantly shook Tech's hand. The fear D showed was in direct contrast to the mild-mannered appearance of Tech. Priscilla had dressed him in a simple grey suit, at his request, in order to appear as forgettable as the mid-range Training score he had assumed he would get.

The tailored slate suit wasn't quite as unremarkable now that it belonged to a newly revealed murderer.

Tech had never met Porcelain before the Reaping, and he needed to make that very clear. In fact, Tech could almost guarantee that the entire story was bogus, abuse and all. Tech had mentioned her parents on the train, causing a massive emotional breakdown which had displayed longing, not anger.

As they both sat down in the lavish chair, Tech leaned forward to conceal his nervousness, looked D in the eye, and began speaking. He had hidden his intelligence and strength for years. Tomorrow in the arena he would show his physical strengths, but tonight, in the Interview, Tech was going to knock the Capitol out.

Tech steadied himself and his shaky voice and began, trying to sound as concerned and unoffended as possible, "D, Porcelain told you a version of the truth, I won't deny it. Her intentions were pure and I don't hold any resentment towards her for her behavior.

"Porcelain has been a friend of mine in Three since we began school. She was always a natural outcast, unable to control her emotions, which caused her to be picked on frequently and the subject of a lot of teasing among the other kids in our class. Her behavior was… offputting, but I couldn't stand to see anyone so defenseless and unstable be the focus of such detrimental. Porcelain has always masked her pain with manic, inappropriate mood swings. Crying as others laugh, describing the death of her father happily like you all just saw."

_Where is this coming from?_

"Her father had always been extremely abusive to Porcelain and her mother. Porcelain never spoke publicly about her beatings, but one day, when another student tore her shirt during the early part of a fight, what we saw were bruises covering her whole body. I could tell Porcelain needed someone to guard her.

"Sometimes, at night, Porcelain would run to my house, crying and incapable of even voicing her pain. She would stay with me and I'd do my best to comfort her. Coming forward with the information would have been useless; her father was a powerful man."

_If Porcelain's dad is alive, will they broadcast him to Panem or cover this up? Too late for that._

"One week, Porcelain stopped coming to school. She would miss a day now and then, but a week wasn't like her. That evening, I went to her home to find the door open and muffled cry coming from the inside the kitchen. I went in, promising myself I would save her—save her from a nightmare she couldn't protect herself against.

"I rushed into her home and found Porcelain crumpled on the floor, sobbing and beaten more severely than I had ever seen. She had been tied to the base of a heater in her kitchen so tightly that her hands were purple. I quickly untied her, but not before her father came back in."

The buzzer rang indicating time had expired, but Tech wasn't about to stop halfway. This was life or death. The audience was captivated and Tech found his own enjoyment nearly inconcealable.

_I will win this._

"D, I—I had to save her, I had to. He would have killed her. Porcelain fainted, helpless with fear, and her father lunged towards me. I barely dodged him and ran out their back door, which overlooked a hillside, as her father grabbed a knife from the counter and chased after me. D, I was scared, but I had to defend her.

"I was trapped against the railing and he was trying to kill me. He would have done it, I know it. I was terrified. I—I… I tripped him as he ran and he went over the rail. He fell, I—I killed him, I didn't mean to.

"I've always felt like Porcelain's caregiver, like her protector. Her father was trying to take our lives, I was young and I just wanted to protect this girl I'd looked after for so long. After that moment, we have hardly been able to speak to each other without the memories flooding back. Our district voting us in must be our penance for our crime they couldn't prove.

"Porcelain probably saw telling the story the way she did as a way to make me look dangerous so the other Tribute's left me alone. I had guarded her for so long, I guess she was just trying to return the favor for saving her from her nightmare. Please, Panem, don't hold her behavior tonight against her. She's—she's a good person and I want to protect her."

Tech concluded his story, wiping the tears he'd manufactured from his face. Despite leading a life of selling himself short, Tech did not lie and he felt instantly ill at how naturally it had come to him. The tattooed faces in the crowd were sobbing uncontrollably, D was restraining his emotion after breaking the only rule of the interviews which is to not go over the allotted time, and it was all because of Tech's lie.

Actually, Tech accepted, it was because of Porcelain's lie, but that did stop the racing of Tech's heart. His nerves were on high alert and the potential ramifications of his stunt raced through his anxious mind.

He had just admitted to being a murder and liked it.

But he wasn't actually a murderer.

Would Timber still align with him?

Would Porcelain just kill him in his sleep tonight?

Would Panem believe him?

Would the Gamemakers just hit him and Porcelain with a meteor to solve this D3 problem that was continually showing itself?

Would he—

"Tech Narrows, the _hero_ from District Three!"

The crowd, after back-to-back Interviews of remaining silent, was frenzied. The outburst of held in emotion resonated for against the walls of the auditorium, shaking them, and Tech, to the core.

_They bought it._

Tech immediately questioned what kind of person he had become. Porcelain forced him into this position and his lying was a kneejerk defense mechanism, but Tech couldn't stop the feeling that he had betrayed his family. What would their next few weeks be like?

Tech shook hands with an overwhelmed, sobbing D, whose nails on his right hand spelled out QUELL, one letter per finger.

Rage boiled inside of Tech immediately. How could people be celebrating all of these deaths every year and how, more importantly, could Porcelain be so deceptive after Tech had done nothing but help her make a bold statement at the Chariot ride and then completely ignore him? Add on that she had the assassin from District 11, June, wrapped her finger, and Tech decided he only had one enemy in the arena.

* * *

Tech ignored the rest of the Interviews and walked directly out of the theater, into the underground transportation that silently breezed him back to the Training Facility, and went to his room.

He tore off his suit, literally, ripping the sleeves of the unimaginably expensive garment into thin strips and wrapping them around his unsteady hands. Tech tore his mattress from the gold frame, threw it against the wall and began punching it using all of the techniques he had practiced every day in private up until one week prior when he had been reaped.

Jab, hook, jab, hook, uppercut, weave, jab, jab.

Tech began screaming at the mattress in the empty room, "How did this happen to me?! What did I do to deserve this?!"

The mattress was beginning to sink in on itself.

Tech continued to repeat his boxing sequence, but alternating hands.

"I tried to be ignored, I tried to be stay out of attention, and now I'm in the HUNGER GAMES BY VOTE?! How does this make sense?!"

"_It doesn't, Tech._"

Tech, shaken by the voice, quickly turned and punched Revere directly across the face, knocking him out cold. Tech wiped the blood from his hand under the cold water of the sink, filled up one his father's color-changing mugs which instantly turned a deep red hue—_must not have gotten all of the blood off_—and dumped it over Revere's head.

He awoke with a start, clutching his face and staring at Tech. Revere, who hours earlier had been swelling with pride at Tech's approval, was trying to calm the swelling at the bridge of his nose. As the bleeding subsided, they pair still hadn't spoken. Revere remained laying across the floor, blood drenching his suit and District 3 emblazoned tie, as Tech replaced his washcloths.

Tech broke the silence, "Revere, I swear I didn't know you were there. I wasn't hitting you, I was hitting—I was hitting tonight, this whole insane experience."

"Well, you weren't lying about the boxing skill." Revere tried to laugh, but ended up coughing up a decent amount of coagulated blood. "Disgusting."

"Revere, you've been a great mentor and I'm sorry about breaking your nose—well, maybe breaking your nose. It looks broken. It doesn't matter, look, I want to go into tomorrow by myself. I will make my way to the hovercraft, I will be on time and I won't do anything that will get you in trouble. I just want to have that—what could be my last moments, to myself.

"Promise to tell my father he is a hero and my mother that I loved her. If I survive the first ten minutes, I need those sponsors, because I plan on winning."

Revere nodded with his hand still holding a cloth that was steadily dripping blood. Added to the slowly healing wound Porcelain had administered with the champagne glass, Revere was definitely earning his chops.

The pain was clearly excruciating, but he still delivered his own goodbye, even though it sounded congested. "I respect that, Tech; you're on your own. If you win, your sponsor simply wants combat lessons. The sponsor's a Games fanatic and wants to be trained by a winner since Capitol citizens never get a chance to volunteer themselves. I've already said yes, so when you come back, you're stuck to it. Expect something every other day or so while you're in there. I will speak to your parents, but I don't imagine a possibility of you not being there with me when we go back to 3.

"Oh, and I know Porcelain was lying. She didn't tell me she was going to do that. She was trying to outsmart you, Tech, and you crushed her. Her face backstage, Tech… it looked worse than mine. Watch out for her and, despite what I said before, she is your biggest problem. She's proven that. She hates you blindly—I know that now—and don't believe anything otherwise, not even for a second.

"Do Lit proud."

With that, Revere staggered out of the room as Tech went over to his now lumpy mattress and laid it back on its frame.

* * *

Tech exited his first hovercraft ride noiselessly and walked towards the chrome elevator which would take him to his launch room. The doors opened as he neared them and closed as soon as he entered, taking him to a narrow hallway. He followed the sequentially numbered doors down to the room marked 3M, entered, and sat on the single bench in the room.

Since he was from D3 and there was only one elevator, he assumed that he and his fellow Tributes were entering one at a time. Further, the Capitol had an obsession with numerics, so he figured there were at least 18 Tributes still to land.

Tech studied the room, despite there not being much to focus on. The launch tube with a sliding glass door to seal his fate was in the corner of the deep green tiled room. Aside from the tube and the bench he was currently sitting on, there was a simple coat rack which held his arena attire.

Tech moved across the room and laughed aloud at the silence of it. These moments might be all he had left and he felt like he should yell or dance or run around naked, which would have been excellent options if he wasn't running through all of his footage training so vigorously in his head.

The garments the Tributes wore were _always _suited specifically for the arena. Warm arenas used thinner materials, water based arenas used thicker materials to keep water out. Even the year they were on the side of the volcano, the suits themselves were flame-retardant, though the Tributes didn't know that until the eruption.

The uniform in front of Tech was clearly suited for a climate with some precipitation. The shirt and long pants were dense and, to test his theory, Tech spit on the sleeve of the shirt and watched it bead off and fall to the floor of the launch room.

Tech spit again, directly on the floor, for good measure.

There was also a thin windbreaker—_wouldn't want to keep me too warm_—made from a water resistant material.

Tech was grateful for the promise of water, but he knew that it would keep the other Tributes from dying of thirst which would lead to more Tribute-on-Tribute violence. The Gamemakers were definitely making a spectacle out of this Quell, knowing the Tributes would feel as though they had something to prove after being voted in by their own community members.

Tech certainly did.

After putting on his outfit, Tech went to the tube and stood in it despite not being instructed to, which was directly the opposite of what the hovercraft pilot had informed him to do. The tube itself was fairly slim, leaving him with only enough room to stick his arms out at a little more than a 60 degree angle due to his height.

Looking up, Tech saw the hatch that would open 10 feet above his head to allow his launch plate to hit the surface and reveal the arena to him, where he would be forced to stand stationary for 60 seconds and then enter the most vicious few minutes of the Games.

Lit had been in a room just like this. She had felt the same terror and she had nearly won. Tech stepped out of the tube and reconsidered her advice.

He saw the girl from 10 manipulate the kids in the 19th Games to turn against themselves, leaving herself a clear path to being a Victor with minimal stress. Tech would certainly try and apply her strategy and he felt a newfound confidence in his ability to think on his toes after his lying free-for-all during the Interviews. He had felt extreme guilt over his actions the previous evening, but there was no time for guilt; Tech needed a clear head.

And then there was the second part.

_Also, are plates activated before they lock into place? Could this be exploited? _

_This is how to win._

Tech looked all around the edge of the tube, which revealed nothing but thick glass. As he stepped back into the tube, he looked up and saw the riveting on the lid of the tube matched the riveting on the launch plate under his feet. Between that and the lighting up he had seen when the plates reached their apex in his film study, Tech determined the explosives didn't activate until…

_Also, are plates activated before they lock into place? Could this be exploited? _

_This is how to win._

Tech understood the conclusion never reached by Lit right as the automated voice instructed the Tributes to enter their launch tubes.

_Could this be exploited? _

Tech understood it could.

He knew.

Tech remained still in the tube, staring not at the forgettable launch room, but at the lid, waiting for it to open. The door of the cylinder slid shut but Tech wait patiently, nervously.

As the door sealed, the hatch nearly a dozen feet above him opened to reveal a cloudy gray sky.

Tech knew he had to react immediately. He jumped and stuck his feet and hands to the side of the tube, suspending himself against the sides as the plate below him began to rise and, continuing the same motion, tried to make distance on himself and the slowly rising floor below him. Tech moved swiftly, pushing his hands up and then holding his weight while he brought his feet up a foot or so, each time making precious inches on the plate below.

As he was climbing, he decided the plate would likely explode the second it locked into place if it didn't have any weight on it, so he would need to sprint as quickly as possible away from it.

Actually, it may not explode at all, but it didn't take an in-depth risk analysis for Tech to decide in a split second that he would need to run for his life.

The climb was physically exhausting, made even more difficult by the slick composition of the glass tube. His years of boxing had afforded Tech the upper body strength to make the climb, but it was grueling and, as Tech reached the top of the tube, he slipped.

Footing lost, he threw his hands up towards the lip of the cylinder and caught on by the knuckles nearest to the ends of his fingers. Tech was committed. He needed to beat these Games and the citizens and the Gamemakers and Porcelain and everyone responsible for sending him and Lit here.

Tech pulled himself up quickly and rolled out onto the grass, which was wet with rain that appeared to be no longer falling. He stood and sprinted, back towards the launch tubes, directly towards the Cornucopia.

As he made his dash, his launch pad exploded in a thunderous blast, but it must have been straight up in the air to avoid killing the other Tributes nearby.

A second blast immediately went off, indicating that another Tribute had fallen from their plate, likely from the shock of the initial blast. A Tribute hadn't left their plate early in nearly 15 years, let alone purposely ascended the launch tube and rolled out.

Tech had undoubtedly been the cause of the death of whatever Tribute left his plate, but he felt surprisingly detached from his responsibility.

Tech turned slowly, seeing the 22 remaining Tributes, Porcelain included, staring at him as the timer began to countdown from 60.

In a moment of beautiful silence, Tech realized he was in the Hunger Games arena during the first Quarter Quell and was completely safe.

Tech was surrounded by his pick of weapons, backpacks, food and tents and there was no one to interfere with him for another 58 seconds.

He had hid for years, and now he was the focus of an entire nation and 23 stunned Tributes.

"Thanks, Lit."

_This is how to win._


	13. Cheating

For the next 58 seconds, Tech was in charge of this arena, which he briefly surveyed as he made his dash to the Cornucopia.

Directly behind where the Tributes stood on their launch plates was a tremulous ocean with white waves crashing against jagged rocks which overlooked a substantial drop into the choppy, thundering sea below. The huge body of water, very oceanlike in appearance, stretched out as far as Tech could see. Tech noticed a small island in the slate-skyed distance, but it was completely surrounded by the rough water and decidedly impossible to reach.

To the right of the Cornucopia laid a small village—in fact, to simply call it "small" seemed like a gross understatement. There was a row of no more than ten small huts, which would undoubtedly be sought out as shelter and lead to many brutal confrontations that Tech had no interest in being a part of.

Behind the Cornucopia was a forest so dense that it was impossible to see past the initial treeline. Tech could only use his imagination to determine what kind of Capitol-engineered demons were pacing through the roughage.

Tech checked left as he picked up a backpack with a visible sleeping bag and continued his dead sprint to the Cornucopia; he would need the warmth and protection from the promise of rainfall. Judging by the sky and the overall environment, Tech couldn't imagine seeing the sun again unless he won.

All he would have is clouds.

The area between the jagged rocks behind the crescent shaped arrangement of launch plates and the treeline behind the Cornucopia was no more than a half mile of wide open space in either direction. In fact, Tech noticed how unnatural it seemed that the treeline and the shoreline ran completely and perfectly parallel to each other from one what appeared to be one side of the arena, all the way to the other. From above, it must've looked like exact layers: the sea, the rocks, the grass plain, the forest, and then whatever was on the other side of that wooded abyss.

_50 seconds._

Tech looked left as he picked up another pack overflowing with packaged foods. His arrangement with Timber was still his only hope, despite whatever admiration he had earned from the viewers after his wild deceit in reaction to Porcelain's tall tale of murder at the Interviews. A silver sponsor parachute wouldn't save him from 23—well, 22 now—angry Tributes.

Tech nearly ran into the Cornucopia, shocked at what he saw in his destined direction.

A tree.

One enormous tree, all by itself in the middle of grassy, open field. It was impossible for Tech to tell how far away it was, but it was certainly a few miles; a few miles where Tech would be sprinting for his life in plain sight. The treeline in that direction still maintained its perfectly equidistant spacing from the jagged rocks which marked the shore.

Tech would need to run towards that tree and hope Timber saw his suicide mission as a sign of good faith. Tech briefly considered seeking concealment in the woods, but he remembered his study of the Games: "If it looks safe, it isn't."

_40 seconds._

Tech was at the mouth of the massive metal Cornucopia and saw the axes sitting right at the edge of the entrance. Tech now had two backpacks—one on his front and one on his back—two short handled axes shoved crudely into the already opened front pack and one long handled axe in his hand. Looking down, he saw a small mesh case filled with blades which were undoubtedly intended for Poetry; he'd surely dazzle with those.

Tech grabbed them and, in a moment of blind decision, ran back towards the Tributes—more specifically, towards Porcelain.

_33 seconds._

As he reached the Tributes, the shouts began.

"You're dead, cheater!"

"How did you do that?!"

"Push off the Careers right now, kill them!"

"Three, you know we're going to find you!"

"Don't hit me with that axe, please!"

Tech never broke his eye contact with Porcelain, who stood casually on her plate.

_30 seconds._

"Porcelain, I got these for you so you can protect yourself from these killers! I don't know if you know how to use them, but they seem like your best hope!" Tech found himself shouting in a rapid pace as the wind began to blast his face from the ocean.

Forcing sincerity, Tech hollered, "Good luck, Porcelain!" and threw the set of knives a few feet in front of her plates.

Porcelain's eyes were wide with shock and genuine fear. Tech had just made her the first target of one of the deadliest Tributes in the Games, Poetry, and he wasn't even the only one who was competent with the throwing knives, Tech assumed. Porcelain would need to either abandon them, fight for them, or grab them and run into the ocean, as her plate was centrally located and she had no chance at a clean getaway.

Tech had set her up to be killed in a split second, made it look like a naïve piece of charity work to the crowd in Panem and he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. The Games were starting in 20 seconds, he needed to look out for himself. Porcelain tried to get him killed on the train and again during the Interviews; Tech found her to be a dangerous liability to his safety at this point.

He looked to Timber briefly, which was enough time to see a smile of understanding on Timber's face. Tech had left himself armed only with axes he couldn't use and made sure death of Porcelain, the only person Timber had to fear Tech was in an alliance with.

_15 seconds._

Tech turned and sprinted as fast as he could, channeling the breathing techniques he had so methodically formulated as he ran laps in the underground hallway while he trained beneath his father's office.

Never taking his eyes off the lone, massive tree in the distance, Tech ran with the brutal wind nearly knocking him over as it swept inland from the water.

Lit had noticed the plates. Lit had given him an advantage like no one in Panem had ever seen, nor would ever seen because the oversight had been exploited. The Gamemakers probably hate him, but he felt as though he was undeniably the population's favorite.

The cannon sounded indicating the actual beginning of the Games, but Tech didn't turn to look, only focusing on making distance from the rampage behind him.


	14. Ambush

**It has been over a year since my last posting on this story. There aren't many of you I need to apologize to, but I still feel a bit guilty. After my daughter was born (she turns one next month!), I went back to work and my flash drive was stolen by a student. This flash drive contained my entire, completed story in addition to my entire teaching life. Needless to say, it was devastating.**

**It took a year to get the gusto back to rewrite it, but now that I'm off for the summer, I should have some time during naps to crank out some chapters. **

**As I went back through and reviewed my work, I realized it was riddled with typos and redundancy which is entirely inexcusable. Those were late nights after days of remodeling my home-and a few drinks-so I wasn't in prime writing condition. Hopefully the conclusion of this story is done justice, as the plot turns are things I'm very proud of. **

**Welcome back to the 25th Hunger Games and thanks for your patience!**

Tech continued his awkward sprint, axes in hand and a backpack on both his front and back, when he realized he had started running downhill at a virtually imperceptible rate, or at least initially. From the Cornucopia, the half mile wide expanse of grass looked completely flat as it led to the tree in the distance; however, after making his dash, Tech could see that wasn't the case it all.

The flat plain was a complete optical illusion, the kind of element that seemed to be a trick from the Gamemakers to make this direction of the arena appear undesirable but ultimately rewarding to those who took the risk. Tech imagined that his competitors wouldn't be quick to head to this area because it appeared to make them so vulnerable. The hidden valley, however, was actually fairly deep and dotted with large trees and…

A stream.

Fresh water was hidden in plain sight. Tributes normally struggled for days, sometimes until their death, to find fresh water. This stream flowed in from the forest inland—which seemed unnatural considering the massive ocean from the opposite direction—and dropped down into a large cavern Tech had absolutely no interest in exploring, but he would use it to conceal himself until Timber made his arrival.

Taking temporary shelter under a tree and, working quickly, Tech emptied his two backpacks to consolidate them into one. He could help but marvel at his haul: a deluxe sleeping bag, a compass (which seemed unneeded, considering the arena seemed to have clearly separated regions), two full canteens, assorted nuts and berries, a small length of rope, a rain poncho made from the same material as the arena-issued jacket, a med kit and a filet knife presumably for fish, but Tech decided to keep that in the front of the pack in case a need arose. He secured the smaller axes to the pack using the rope, shoved the rest inside, and made his way over to where the stream reached the cavern and dropped out of the arena.

Tech was extremely skeptical of the dark, mossy, seemingly bottomless pit which was made slick by the rain that slowly began to fall. He couldn't see far past his feet or hear the water hit any sort of basin.

A different hiding place was being seriously considered when the cannon shattered Tech's thoughts to represent the dead.

Ten shots.

That was on the high end of the norm, but not exceptional based on Tech's research, especially considering one Tribute exploded prior to the melee because of Tech.

Tech became still, standing adjacent to the mouth of the cavern. His trick killed another Tribute, and Tech had no idea who the child was.

Not even a face to go with his action.

He had felt so remorseless, he even tried to kill Porcelain, causing who knows what kind of chaos. Porcelain was terrible, that much was certain, but wasn't singling her out essentially the same as playing God by putting a target on her back? However, climbing out of the launch tube hadn't exactly been a subtle beginning to the Games for Tech, either.

Tech was revolted at himself, but didn't have time to dwell on his personality shift. He was fully exposed as he stood at the edge of the stream drop-off and he heard the clear sounds of panicked shouting through the rain and wind that coolly whistled overhead.

Scurrying down, Tech found a small ledge that would support him. He had no visibility at all and any movement caused his rain resistant outerwear to make a deafening rustle. Standing still, Tech waited for the shouts to come within ear shot.

The series of sounds that followed erased any doubt that Tech was facing the most horrible of circumstances:

A sloshing of water as multiple footsteps ran through the stream.

A patronizing yell. "Brother?! Sister?! Come back here, my friends _really_ could use that bow and those arrows you borrowed from the Cornucopia! I promised I would get it back; don't make me look bad!"

The voice that was clearly Poetry's.

_That is still a stupid name._

Tech assumed he was yelling at the kids from Six and, based on his tone, he hadn't seen their marksmanship with the arrows. He was toying with them, patronizing them, arrogantly presuming he had the upper hand against the apparently helpless looking duo. Poetry hadn't seen their display during training, but Tech was not surprised. It is difficult to be observant when you spend so much time trying to be observed.

A whimper, "Poetry, p—please, please don't hurt us. My brother didn't know what he was doing. He just grabbed. He's young. _He didn't know any better!_"

A slosh through the stream, which must have been Poetry slowly stalking his prey.

"I promise, this will go quick, and then I'll find your brother and tell him you said good bye. Give a wave to Panem."

A shrill scream. "POETRY! NO, PLEA-

_now_."

The _now _was so matter-of-fact, so calculated.

A cannon.

"Nice shot!"

"I'll get his knives!"

Laughter, fading footsteps, and silence.

Tech definitely didn't see that coming.


End file.
